


Revenge is a Dish

by ForcedRedacted



Series: Raven [1]
Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Bhaalspawn - Freeform, Cannibalism, Demons and Devils Oh My, Evil party, Good and neutral parties mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 01:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 57
Words: 129,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21152990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForcedRedacted/pseuds/ForcedRedacted
Summary: Originally posted on FF.netWhat's worse than being thrown off of a building to your presumed death? Clearly, being ambushed in the middle of the night and watching your foster father get cut down before your eyes





	1. Best served Cold

_-Please, I don't want to die!-_

_-Please, somebody help me!-_

_-Please, I-I'll do anything!-_

_-You can't-? But I don't want to die!-_

_-...Then I want him dead. I want him dead and I want him to_ _**hurt **__for it.-_

_-Humanity? Soul? I-... Yes.-_

_-Yes, I'll do it.-_

_-Just please… I don't want… To die.-_

It woke to the familiar sensation of falling, before grunting as it impacted with what was presumably uneven rocks and opening its eyes. Pain soon followed the glimpse of a tall tower-like building with a broken iron fence around a balcony, the body starting to twist and contort with crackles and pops of joints displacing and bones breaking so that they could reform. The process took barely six seconds, though it felt much longer.

It always felt much longer.

Voices shouted from around it and it reflexively rolled to put its feet under it and took off running, dodging down back alleys until it came to rest, chest heaving in the darkness of an alley. It had lost the pursuit, for the most part, but it was far from safe. Taking stock of its situation, it leaned back against the wall and closed its eyes.

The body had been male, from what it could tell from those precious few seconds before it had impacted with the stones. From the armor, probably someone paid to defend people. The metal plates fit weirdly now, as the male had seemingly been taller than it. She felt along the body after removing the metal plates to see what she had ended up with.

Physically male, seemingly human- No, its eyes picked out shapes too well in the semi-darkness, and as it felt along its ears it nodded to itself. Elven. Acceptable, useful, with resistances and an edge that a human lacked. It -**She**-, stripped the plate armor from her body and adjusted the clothes to better conceal her thinner frame. Her throat hurt, and she shook her head before bundling up the armor to go and head into the city she had found herself in.

If nothing else, it beat being a goblin again.

* * *

Damion sat by the fire, staring blindly through to the embers as Imoen half-heartedly pretended to eat. His fingers were clenched in a white-knuckled fist around the parchment, the letter that was tinged with his father's blood and the warning that had eventually gotten the old mage killed. Their trip wasn't supposed to be like this, he thought to himself. Or so he thought before he dimly registered Imoen agreeing glumly.

"I thought the old man was going to get you out of here quicker-"

"You knew. You -knew- and you-you-!"

He jumped slightly as arms wrapped around him, though he dropped his gaze back to the fire when he realized his sister was crying into his shoulder. Anger bled into the hollowness that felt like it was going to swallow him, and he wrapped his arm around her.

"I didn't m-mean- I didn't w-want-!"

"It's not your fault. It's… I'm sorry, Im. It's… Been a long night."

She sniffled, and he patted her back as she mumbled quietly.

"I woulda toldja if I'd thought it was actually dangerous. I didn't…"

"It's… It'll be okay. You came out here and now I'm not alone. I don't think… I could be alone right now."

"You're not gunna go back to being weird are you?"

He tried to smile as she leaned back, anxious hope in her face despite how he grimaced.

"You promised you wouldn't let me, Im."

She managed a smile in response, and almost screamed as her gaze met an unfamiliar set of eyes in the darkness.

"Dami-"

"Easy, I'm not here to hurt you. I'm going to come out, so you can put the shiv away."

He eased the dagger another inch clear of the sheath, head craned around to focus on the low, almost rough voice. He kept it out and shifted slowly to his feet as the figure stepped out, and he was almost taken back by how thin the figure looked, half-starved and dirty.

"We've got the same enemy. The same person that killed someone important to me, killed your old man. I watched, and saw you run. I don't know why he wants you dead, but that's reason enough for me to want you to live."

"Who… Are you?"

She shifted slightly, head tilting before licking along her teeth and grimacing.

"... Ira, is the shortened version. The rest's a bit of a mouthful. You? He called you 'The Ward'."

"Damiond-... Damion. Just Damion."

Grey eyes flickered between both humans, one crouched defensively the other lowering his dagger.

"And you, Girl?"

"Im-Imoen."

It didn't take elven hearing to pick out the whisper of 'I don't trust her. Something's not right!' nor the answering grunt of acknowledgement, but there wasn't much that could be done about it.

"Nice to meet you both, then. Now, do you have any food? I feel like I haven't eaten in an eternity."

Ira could tell they were wary of her. That was fine, the older of the two had agreed to allow her to stay, but she could tell he thought she was either going to kill them in their sleep or was another number to protect against an ambush. The older one was a tall, dark-haired human with tanned skin and long hair tied haphazardly back while the younger sported shoulder-length hair and eyes that held the memory of laughter. She sipped the offered water carefully, all too aware of her body's limitations before flicking her eyes towards the Damion as she was addressed.

"So what do you have."

"What do I what now?"

"Have. What do you have that makes you worth taking with us."

She blinked, and thought about it. Normally, that wasn't a question asked of her but as she took stock of her situation she realized she must have looked particularly pathetic. Buying time with a sip of the watery, awful-tasting soup she had been given (How did they -eat- that crap with straight faces?) Ira shrugged.

"I've got some skills. I'm a bit… out of practice. Give me a chain and I can do some damage with it." At the mix of skeptical and confused looks she got, she raised a hand. "Fair hand at using something like a spear, or a staff. Claws too."

"Claws…?"

Belatedly, she recalled that elves didn't have claws, and after taking another sip of the soup swallowed and cleared her throat.

"Martial claws. They, uhh… Fit, over your hands."

"Like… What a monk would use? Not a cloister monk but-"

"Yeah, like that." Ira waved a hand vaguely towards Imoen, finishing her bowl of soup and grimacing slightly.

"We'll… Get you a staff. Should be easy to find one. So you have nothing else?"

"Had some coin. Spent it trying to follow the bastard that red rum'd your old man."

At the slightly confused look she got, Ira couldn't help but crack a grin.

"Red rum. Murder, backwards and split down the middle."

"He just died last night! We buried him this morning! How can you joke about it!"

She raised her hands defensively as Imoen stood up and scowled at her, leaning back.

"Humour is the death of despair. If you're that sore about it, I'll be more careful with my words. I'm still… Getting used, to your ways. Humans are strange."

"Apologize to him!"

"Imoen, it's… It's alright."

"Dami-"

"Imoen." His curt rebuff cut her off, and he rubbed at his eyes for a moment. "I've had enough of fighting. I just…"

"If you want, I'll take first watch."

"You-!"

"Sit down, Imoen. Ira, if you hurt my little sister…"

"Obligatory threat, obligatory counter with honesty. I needs you more than you need me, after all."

Damion grunted, before laying down and looking blankly up at the sky.

"Good. Get some sleep, Imoen."

"I'll wake you up in four hours then, kid."

Ira grinned into the darkness at the grunt that answered her, settling down to take her watch.

* * *

Howling woke him from his sleep, wolves from the sound of it, and as he scrambled to his feet he realized that despite how the howls carried, the sounds were from a distance. The fire had burned down to embers but the sky was beginning to brighten in the east. Movement across the fire drew his attention, and he realized Ira had turned her head from the direction of the screams to focus on him.

"Don't count on me keeping watch all night again, Kid. I get tired too, though it only takes about four hours for me to recover."

"How far away are they?"

"Less than a thousand feet, but not by much I'd hazard."

"What… Are they?" Imoen uncurled from where she had been feigning sleep, sitting up and looking around with a dagger in hand.

"Wolves."

"You know a lot about them it seems, Ira."

"'Fought them before. They go down quickly if you know what you're doing. Either of you able to fight?"

Damion and Imoen shared a look.

"Yes, though we're both better at shooting things than stabbing them."

Ira grunted, before shrugging.

"Who are they attacking?"

"My ears are good, kid, but not -that- good."

Imoen's face scrunched at being called 'kid', and she opened her mouth to protest before Ira cut her off.

"I'm -old-. Compared to me, you're all kids."

"Enough. We should go and check it out anyways."

A shrug and sullen pout answered him as he collected his things, waiting as Ira dumped dirt onto the remains of the fire to snuff it.

"Lead on then, Kid."

They didn't have far to go. About three hundred feet from their camp, a wolf burst out of the underbrush and snapped blindly at Imoen until a fist whumped into its throat. It skittered to the side, whining, while Damion scooped the bow from a backpedaling Imoen to fire an arrow into its shoulder. A second fist cracked into its head before it went down as Damion put another arrow into its hide.

"Easy, Kid. It's already dead. This in mind, though, I think you need to decide on some party arranging."

"Me?"

"You're the leader, aren't you? She defers to you, and I don't particularly care to lead. I'm just here for when the armored guy comes back for you so I can stick my hand through his-" A glance towards Imoen had Ira shifting slightly. "... You get the idea."

"You first then."

She studied Imoen and Damion for a moment, before shrugging.

"Makes sense."

With that, she turned and continued in the direction they had been traveling in and keeping an eye out, either uncaring or oblivious to the look Imoen gave her back. Her ears were keen enough to catch their whispers back and forth, and with her walking in the lead it kept her expression hidden from them.

"... I don't trust her. Something's not right."

"She didn't try anything overnight."

"No, but… Do you think she's lying?"

"No. She was telling the truth about the horned man taking someone important away from her. She's not telling us the -whole- truth, though."

"I feel like… She's dangerous, Dami."

"She -did- throat-punch a wolf."

It was hard, fighting the urge to snicker at that as Ira continued on. Something rustled through the underbrush to their left, but she deemed it far enough away to not be an immediate threat and continued without comment.

"Yeah. That wasn't anything like what I expected from a monk. I thought there was more… More, uhh…"

"Hoyahh's?"

"Yeah!"

Ira rolled her eyes at that.

"That was more like a brawler in a bar. And she moves weirdly!"

"Like she's been kicked in the pants?"

"Yeah! Dami, There's something very -weird- about her. She looked grumpy when she reached for a bowl last night and had to move to get it."

"Im, -you- look grumpy when that happens to you, too."

"Yeah but-"

"People ahead."

She glanced back to see they both had startled at her warning, suppressing a smirk and instead quirking an eyebrow.

"Hostile?"

"Dunno. They were probably the ones the wolves attacked though."

"How do you know?" Imoen frowned at her, glancing ahead and then murmuring a soft 'oh' as she caught sight of what Ira had seen seconds before.

"Biggest clue was the wolf corpse with stab wounds. The green robe with his hands in it's chest, though, that's unusual."


	2. Best served Cautiously

The pair in the bend of the road turned out to be a scarred halfling and a tattooed man in a tattered green robe. The halfling scowled at the group as they approached, while the human straightened from where he had been up to his elbows in the belly of the beast. A gasp of breath, followed by his hands clutching to his face came but a breath before a faux falsetto voice gushed out of him.

"Monty! Look! People who need our -help-!"

"Rein it in, Wizard!"

"Hello!" His voice had dropped to a more 'normal' near-purr as he rounded the wolf, wiping his hands on his robes as he moved. "You appear to be injured! Allow me to offer this healing potion free of charge because I am a good samaritan and would like to do my civic duty."

Ira gave the wizard a once over, sniffing the potion for a moment before peering back to the baffled and on guard Damion and Imoen.

"Seems safe enough. What say you, oh glorious leader?"

She had to suppress a smirk at the disgruntled glance she got for her troubles, stepping aside as Damion stepped forward and inspected the potion for a moment. Shrugging, he accepted it tucked it away.

"Thank you, uhh…?"

"Xzar! And this is my traveling companion, Monty!"

"Montaron, ya daft fool."

"Mooontieeee, come oooon-"

"Are you sure it's safe? The potion, I mean." Imoen tucked closer to Damion, lowering her voice to a whisper as the pair in front of them continued back and forth.

"It seems to be the right colour and consistency."

"But still… They don't seem…"

"What, like 'goodly folk'?" Ira quirked a brow, snickering as she glanced from the show before her to the pair slightly behind her. "The potion smells about right, kid. I wouldn't worry about it too much."

"I'll take any help I can get at this point, Im-"

"Help? You need help? Why, so do we!" Xzar burst into the conversation, largely by lunging forward and shoving his face inches from Damion's and grinning broadly. "We have been sent to investigate into the iron crisis that -plagues- the Sword Coast! Monty, as you can see, is a little -short- on muscle, and while I am but a Mighty Wizard~... I need to sleep at -some- point. Will you help us? We head to Nashkel!"

"We're meeting some people, though, at the Friendly Arm Inn and that's the completely opposite direction." Damion leaned back, eyes flicking to Imoen and then to Ira. One had defensively shrunk back while the other looked to be trying very hard not to laugh. "Would you, uhh… Mind if we stopped by there first?"

"We're on a timer-"

"Quickly, yes! More the merrier! Oh, isn't this a -delightful- turn of events, Mooonty!?"

"You'll be the death of me, blasted fool wizard!"

The party quickly reshuffled after a few minutes of walking. Neither of the party's 'archers' wanted either of the newcomers behind them, which meant that (after a series of dirty looks from the halfling and oblivious humming from the wizard) Ira took the lead incase anything turned up ahead of them that was hostile. A brief discussion about Montaron's shortbow and some whining from Xzar relieved the situation of Damion and Imoen having to share the same shortbow. They had just finished convincing him when Imoen came to a realization and tugged on Damion's sleeve.

"Where did Ira go?"

"Ho there wanderer! Stay thy course a moment, to indulge an old man."

"Oh what now…" Damion turned to blink at the red-robed presumably wizardly old man who was tottering towards them, smiling under the brim of his pointed hat.

* * *

"There you are, Ira."

She grunted, pushing herself up from where she had hunkered down on the side of the road to go sort through a small pile of rags. Damion frowned as he stepped closer, watching her hands while she picked out a pair of gems and a handful of coins.

"Where… Did you get those?"

"Gibberlings, south by south east've here."

She canted her head at the silence, expecting demands and questions and mildly confused by how the black haired youth hunkered down and studied her hands.

"Your hands have blood all over them. From the smell of these rags, the gibberlings weren't exactly healthy. I've got water, if you need it."

Ira blinked, before inspecting her hands.

"... You're right. Let me finish this, then I'll do that."

Damion nodded, before setting the canteen down and turning to head back the way he had wandered over from.

"We're camping a little ways off the road. We need to talk later."

She grunted, but nodded anyways.

* * *

"I know dragons with feet like rabbits, 'tis true I swear!"

Damion smiled to himself, watching as Imoen and Xzar sat by the fire and traded outrageous stories. It was almost peaceful, in that moment, and he was almost able to forget the last forty eight hours until he imagined what Gorion might have thought about his traveling companions. Would he have approved of them? Would he have ushered Damion and Imoen away from them, bid them good day and continued towards the Friendly Arm Inn? What about Ira?

"What -about- me."

Damion jumped slightly where he sat, twisting to peer at the elf who had settled next to him without a sound before speaking.

"I just-uhhh… Well, I don't know the first thing about you-"

"Yes you do. You know that you can call me Ira."

"That's not-" Damion sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. "Look, everyone's got a story, or reasons why they're out here. I want to know what I can expect from you."

"Lemme ask you something, Kid." She glanced over, setting his canteen down against his hip. "Would it help you if I told you that I'm some lost wanderer who needs help, or would you prefer if I told you I was revenge? I already told you that I'm after the armored arsehole who killed your old man. See, that's what I thought. You don't want to know my past, you want to know if you can -trust- me. That's not something you can ask and get a satisfactory answer on, Kid. That's something you have to come to understand if you can or not about people. You're -young-, it's almost pitiable about you but you need to come to your own conclusions. Don't trust someone just because they said you could. 'S usually the first indicator that they're about to twist something to their advantage."

Damion was silent for a long moment, watching the fire as Ira mostly ignored the halfling that was eavesdropping behind them.

"... Why are you helping me? Why are you -really- helping me, Ira?"

"'Cause it benefits me. You hate this armored arsehole, you've got a good reason to hunt him down and kill him. I can't take him yet, this body of mine's not strong enough at this point but if I stick with you, while you get stronger, I'll get stronger too. It'll take less time for the two of us working together to get to a point where we can take him together than it would for me to get strong enough to take him on my own."

"Why should I believe you don't work for him?"

Ira snorted, shaking her head.

"You think I wouldn't have put my fist through your face already if I was?"

He nodded as he thought on her words, before glancing over to her and frowning at how she was digging a rock out of the ground.

"What are you doing?"

"Hmm? Oh." Ira hefted the rock for a moment, before almost casually lobbing it over her shoulder. There was a moment of quiet as it thumped down, before she shrugged. "'Parrently nothing. Get some sleep, Kid. I've got first watch."

* * *

Montaron glared at the stretched out elf, nursing a headache and contemplating a variety of ways to kill someone. He could poison the pointy-eared bint. There were different dosages of different substances that would make it slow, so that it could be blamed instead on sickness. There were different places that she could be stabbed, and she wandered off into the bush alone enough that it could be made to look like an accident. There were a hundred different ways she could 'disappear', though most of them would leave a discoverable body. Inspecting his knives, he pictured each one sinking into her flesh, before recalling how she had abruptly vanished before the strange red-robe had crossed their paths. He had thought it a fluke until she had nailed him in the head with a rock as he listened to her conversation with the black haired lad.

The worst part was that she seemed to always be there anytime he tried to get Damion alone. Case in point, he had almost gotten his hand into Damion's pocket when she ghosted past him and settled down next to the human. Unnerved enough to retreat, he had instead skulked around to overhear their conversation.

Damn the blasted wench!

Rubbing his head, he weighed the options and scowled to himself. Both the fool wizard and he needed the extra muscle, even if it seemed more like a pair of unfledged ducklings following a badger. The girl at leased seemed to have her eyes open, and he was certain he had stolen the same wand twice from her pack, as after he had nicked it the wand had mysteriously vanished from along his belt. He shook his head and cursed as he looked towards the sleeping Imoen.

He was going to have to steal it again. It seemed that damned girl had stolen it back once more.

* * *

Damion sighed as he looked up at the towering form of the Friendly Arm Inn. It was morning, and they had camped with the all-agreed upon idea that there were enough of them to fight off anything that might attack, and they (Damion and Imoen at least) were exhausted from when they had gotten lost and spent half a day backtracking. By the end of it Xzar had been mumbling incoherently as he stumbled along and Ira was unhappily binding her forearms where she had fended off the fangs of the local wolves. Even Damion had gained a limp from where he had pushed Imoen out of the way and then had his feet pulled out from under him.

Still, when they came through the gates and started towards the stairs up to the keep's door, the last thing most of them had expected would be that someone was waiting for them.

"Hi, Friend."

Damion blinked, taking the robed man in as he came down the stairs.

"Would you happen to be Damion of Candlekeep?"

"I am, why do you-?"

A grip on the back of his shirt hauled Damion back as the robed figure started casting, throwing him around the corner of the building before Ira grunted and jerked as she started up the stairs. Xzar had already started in on a spell of his own by the time he was back around the corner, arrow nocked and bowstring pulled back while he took stock of how their opponent seemed to be, if how there were three of him standing in the same spot was any indication, a arrow flew past him and went through one of the images, leaving two behind before Xzar's spell flashed across the open space and staggered the mage a step.

It was all the confirmation that Montaron needed to know which was the real one, and as his blade went in the light in the robed man's eyes went out. He had just started to buckle as Ira latched onto him to keep him upright, opening her mouth as if to say something before dropping him and frowning.

"... He's dead. You'll never get answers if you keep on like that."

"Aye, yer welcome elf-bint for saving yer arse."

"Watch it, wee man. Why not check his pockets? You're -closer- than I am."

Montaron scoffed as he started going through the mages robes, pulling up a pair of scrolls and a small pouch of coin.

"Fifty some-odd gold, and two scrolls looks like."

"That's it? Ech. Cheap bastard."


	3. Best served sadly

It was boredom that led to her 'side job'. What was a few decades after all, in the grand scheme of things? It wasnt like she was -needed- after all for the war. There were countless of her kind involved in it already.

Besides, she liked the -challenge- mortality brought with it. After all, the worst that could happen was death and really, all that would do is send her back for a century or so. It had been a freak run in with a Sensate that had gotten her started, through no fault of her own. It was all completely above board with nothing in any of the laws that bound her stating it was illegal.

But only technically. Such was all she would say on it. It was easy enough to cast her gaze to the Prime and see who was being murdered. If it seemed interesting, she would pour over the Sensates orb and stretch her senses forth. Revenge, was what she offered. Always revenge. It let her -fight-, and starting practically from scratch was a challenge in and of itself sometimes. Thus it was that she watched the half-elven guard in the grasp of a bhaalspawn, pondered as he was pushed through the fence and grinned as he was tossed to the rocks below.

_Your death is inevitable. There is nothing I can change about this._

_What would you do, if I said I could buy your body some time?_

_I cannot stop your death._

_But I can set a task, I can seek revenge for you. You would remain alive until then._

_I will make it hurt. I will make it slow. But it has a price. All things do. The price is your human soul._

_Not your elven spirit. Only the human soul that comes from your mixed heritage. I can understand if you refuse, but you don't have long before you hit the ground._

_Then we have a _ _ **deal** _ _, mortal._

She grinned, and in that moment of the mortals heartbeat, vanished.

* * *

Ira sank into the hot water of the bath with a deep sigh, head resting back against the edge of the tub. Her arms stung, but she could easily recall far worse wounds that had been left on her hide in the past. It was good to get clean, if nothing else. She had forgotten about fleas. They (lice as well, she mentally grumbled) were one of the irksome annoyances of being mortal. Which reminded her about some of the others. A mirror was produced from the supplies beside the tub, and took a moment to take a good look at herself.

Short brown hair. Tanned skin. The unblemished skin of an elf, and brown eyes. Ira poked at the fine arches of her brows and lamented their thinness, but shrugged to herself as she turned her face this way and that. Body hair of any kind was a novel thing for her. The scars the body had received from the impact with the rocks were still there, an uneven pattern of splotches along her neck and side, likely the physical permanent mark her pact had taken hold through.

A look along her body had her grumbling and wishing she had paid more attention to fleshwarping when she had learned it from the Sensate. Half and half, still. Female and male. With time the body would finish adjusting as her yin overcame its yang, but her container was -fragile-. The force of her presence was liable to cause the weak flesh to rip if she wasn't careful. Already it felt like it was almost ready to fall apart.

_"We cant have you just waltzing around as you are! You'll scare everyone! Besides, it'll be -harder- this way!"_

_"So whats your plan then, hmm?"_

_He snapped his fingers, charming smile ineffective against her scowl._

_"We put you -in- the pact partner, this way you -have- to use it to kill the person they want dead enough to pact with your ugly mug~!"_

_"And if i dont?"_

_"So long as you had a hand in it, you'll be fiiine! But if you don't… well, mortals only live so long! But if you die before you finish the task, blamo! You're out of there for a century. Banished! That's the rules template I have to abide by, after all."_

She shook her head, clearing it of the memory before sinking deeper into the water and setting the mirror to the side.

So far, the Sensate had proven truthful, which was an experience in and of itself. Of the two other pacts she had made one had been a jilted wife stabbed to death by her husband's mistress and a goblin shaman killed by adventurers. It was low work. Demeaning, in a way, though if anyone found out and called her an imp she was going to make sure she tore their lower jaw off before-

A soft footfall on the floor behind her, followed by the blade at her throat abruptly had her full attention.

"Now I don't like ya, Bint, but ya have your uses. If ya get in my way, be knowin' that you best be sleepin' lightly, or steppin' lighter. This is ya warnin', ya wont get another. Do ya understand?"

She made no move to answer immediately, eliciting a low growl and a prick of the dagger against her throat.

"Answer me, wretch."

"I Gotcha."

"Good."

The dagger was removed, and she didn't bother to watch as the halfling slipped out of her room, the gears of war turning in her mind.

* * *

Xzar lay stretched out on his bed in the room he shared with Montaron, and contemplated a great many things. Two were a pair of fleshbeings fresh out from under Mothers Skirts, complete with what could be described as an overly punchy -nanny-. One was… well, an overly punchy nanny. He pondered a strange sense of estranged familiarity, a strange family and an overly stabby halfling. There was a pattern at the edge of his fingertips. A pattern of squares and triangles and rectangles that all fit only he could see their -shapes-... Xzar paused, before rolling over to look at the quilt he was laying on, traced the patterns for a moment and counted every triangle twice to see if the number held specific meaning. When one talked, one listened, but one was one was one...

Lost in his counting, the necromancer barely registered the sound o the door closing and Montaron throwing himself down onto the other bed. He was talking, something about food and women and staying in the room. He chimed out a practiced falsetto 'Yeth Mamma Montyyy~!' before taking delight in the disgusted retort and way the door slammed behind the Hinfolk.

Bhaals balls, he hated having to ham up his handicap. It gave him an inch of breathing room, just enough space free of that disgusting _rabbit_ that he could twist and writhe and search. With any luck, the punchy nanny could keep the stabby wife in check. Xzar could only hope such was the case. He didn't like either of them but at least one wasn't going to get him killed out of spite if she died.

* * *

Damion blinked as Khalid and Jaheira were pointed out to him. They looked nothing like what he had imagined. A pair of half elves, one with a sour face, a large stick and leather armor and another wearing splint mail and nervously watching the room.

"You're sure that's them?"

"Yes. Now remember, my in is open to ALL who behave themselves."

"Ah- yes, thank you, Mister Mirrorshade."

Every step he took towards the corner that housed the pair, his sense of dread grew. What if they blamed him? What if they refused to help him because Gorion wasn't with him? What if they asked he didn't have the answers to? What if-

Oh Ohgma they were both looking now.

"Can we help you, young man?"

"L-look at him, J-Jaheira. He looks like wha-what Gorion described."

"Hmph." The female eyed Damion up and down, before casting her gaze across the room as her partner's frown grew. "It is not like him to be late. Are you Damiondred?"

"Y-yes, ahh... "

"Where is Gorion?"

"He didn't... make it." Damion closed his eyes for a moment, fighting down the rising wave of emotion he had kept bottled up so far.

"Make it? What do you mean he didn't make it? Was he late, then, and sent you ahea-"

"J-J-Jaheira, dear…" Footsteps sounded their way across the floor towards Damion, and he flinched slightly as he opened his eyes to see a sad looking Khalid searching his face. "Oh dear… come, s-s-sit down. I will get you s-something to eat and drink."

Numbly, he nodded and moved to one of the chairs, and it seemed he had only just sat down before Khalid was there once more with a bowl of stew and a cup of tea.

"Now, what do you mean he-"

"J-Jaheira, Dear, c-cant you see the y-young man is g-grieving?" Jaheira went silent at that, hand white knuckled around the staff she was holding as Khalid turned from her to face Damion once more. "Eat, and-and-and drink a little of-of the tea. When you can, p-p-please, we must know what h-happened but w-we are here f-f-for you."

He nodded, and tried not to look at his reflection in his tea. It wasn't his face, he felt. It was the face of a boy who had gotten his father killed.

It turned out that they brought him up to their room and sat him on the bed so that Jaheira could fuss over his wounds. His ankle was splinted, small cuts tended to, and an endless seeming supply of tea refilling his cup. Up there, the hustle and the bustle of the inn seemed a lifetime away, and in fits and spurts he started to spit out the story of what had happened to him that day in no particular order. The second attack in Candlekeep. The first. The rats in the store house. Firebead's scroll. Hull's hangover and sword. The cow, Nessa. The book. Being told abruptly that they were leaving, how Imoen had snuck a glance at the scroll on his desk, how she and Ira had met him the day after.

After what, Khalid had gently asked, even as he refilled his cup and put an arm around his shoulders, leaning him to the side for a partial hug and distracting him from how Jaheira had started to pace like a restless animal. So, reluctantly, the attack from that night was divulged in bits and pieces. The ogres. The casters. The way his body had locked up until something in the way his father yelled at him to flee sent him scurrying inexplicably away with only retreat on his mind. The way Gorion had taken all but two down before the armored man had… had…

Jaheira settled against his other side, wrapped an arm around him and between the two of them Damion sobbed. He would have spilled the tea if it wasn't for how Khalid had gingerly removed it from his grasp. He and his wife shared a look over Damion's bowed head, nodding in silent agreement. There was no way they could just let Damion be, not when the grief was fresh and not when he so clearly needed some sort of stability. Not when they needed something to suddenly to combat their own grief at hearing their good friend had been murdered. From the look in his wife's eyes, Khalid knew that vengeance had been added to her 'to do' list, and the gentler soul couldn't quite find it in him to try and persuade her against it.

* * *

Ira peered around the common room from the stairs, noting who was where. Imoen was at a table people watching as she finished her food and Montaron was at another table in the corner, devouring a small feast of his own. That left unaccounted their 'glorious' leader, and the wizard. Shifting back up the stairs, she went from door to door and knocked. One conversation about an ogre with a belt fetish and three empty rooms later had the familiar face of the necromancer peering at her through a crack.

"Momma monty? Oh, the punchy nnnanny! NANA naNa naaa naaahh~!"

"Wanna see a dead body?"

The necromancer went silent, studying Ira for a moment before the door opened marginally more. Glancing up and down the hall, he finally stepped back to let her into the room, voice dropping to an almost reverent murmur.

"Dead bodies, bed doilies, lace and lye, is this body dead yet or something you must try?"

"It wont be for a while now. I need to get the right ingredients. See, I've got a bit of a mouse problem. The thing was troublesome and annoying if tolerable, but now its gone and -bit- me."

"Mice? Skittery and scurrying, with their little droppings and dropped liter. Rabbits are far worse, yes yes they are, though they both -breed- and spawn… spawn... "

Ira smiled to herself, leaning in as Xzar trailed off.

"Mice are resilient, and tend to build up a resistance to the things they eat. Any suggestions?"

"You must not kill him."

There it was, Ira nodded as she mused to herself and crossed her arms. One of the larger bits of sanity that floated through the mad wizards head.

"Must not. Interesting words, and a hell of a handicap." moving to the window, she pushed it open and hopped onto the sill to check the stonework around it. "Something to keep in mind for me then. Maybe I can handle my mouse problem another way."

She swung herself out to the side and started down the wall, leaving Xzar humming and blinking after her.


	4. Best served enraged

Almost everyone found themselves gathered around a table in the common room for breakfast. Montaron and Xzar made up one corner of the table, while Jaheira and Khalid had firmly entrenched themselves on the opposite corner. Imoen was tucked next to Xzar, and Damion found himself settled in beside Khalid. It was a meal mostly eaten in silence, save for quiet murmurs of private conversations until Imoen addressed the proverbial elephant in the room.

"Has anyone seen Ira?"

"No."

"Yes."

Montaron and Xzar exchanged a look, one scowling the other amused.

"Alright, Wizard. Where did ye see the wretch?"

"Oh, she fell off the wall."

"Wall?" Damion blinked and shared a glance with Imoen, even as Jaheira muttered something about doubting the sanity of the present company. "Can you show us, Xzar?"

"No."

"Why not?"

The Necromancer looked from Damion to Montaron, and started to chew on his thumbnail as he mumbled.

"... Xzar?"

"Saws it from Mamma Mooonty's room, yus ah deeed~. Rustle-thump, went she, from a height of twenty!" Xzar looked back towards Damion as his painted lips pulled into a too-large smile and his tone shifted lyrical. "She didn't move after, and I thought it a disaster. But guards saw her not, so she was but a thought."

"Their room overlooked the north, Dami." Imoen pushed herself up, and Damion nodded as they started quickly out of the inn with Khalid and Jaheira hot on their heels. "If she's still there… I hope she's not hurt too badly."

They found Ira rather where they expected her to be, sprawled across a bush that had broken her fall. Unconscious, bruised but only bleeding from where Tarnesh's magic missile spell had slammed into her chest and her arms from the older wounds from the wolves. It was a simple enough matter of fishing her out and hauling her up to Jaheira and Khalid's room and setting her onto the bed so that the druid could perform a more thorough check of her wounds once she had ushered the rest out.

What she found was… Not fully what she expected. The girl seemed particularly hearty, with a build that balanced dexterity and strength. Not the most… -Beautiful-, it seemed, with an almost gaunt reptilian tilt to her features, short hair that seemed to stick out any which way it wanted to and an otherwise physically small frame. She couldn't have been more than five and a half feet at the most. An odd pattern of scar tissue laced up along the side of the torso and neck, disappearing under the hairline put a frown across Jaheira's face, along with the state of her arms. Aside from the healing marks along her arms, Jaheira would have been certain that this person had never fought a day in their life. There were no training scars, the knuckles weren't thick with years of training in hand to hand combat, there was…

A groan, as her patient started to rouse, followed by the grumble of an empty stomach and a muttered 'ow'.

"Stay down, Girl. You are injured and -" Jaheira scowled as she put a hand on Ira's shoulder to push her back down. "You are -injured- and I am tending to your injuries. Are you daft? What were you doing, climbing the outside of the Keep?"

"'M fine, lady, yeesh. -Clearly- I wasn't climbinnng oh woah do I feel weird."

"You are lucky to have received only bruises! When was the last time you -ate-?"

Ira blinked, and contemplated the ceiling for a moment as she laced her fingers together over her stomach.

"That is what I thought. You are wounded, and as thin as a rake."

"Knew I was forgetting something..."

Jaheira scoffed, and moved to the door to stick her head out into the common room on that floor.

"Khalid! Bring simple food and water, please. The idiot is awake."

"Y-Y-Ah-Yes dear!"

* * *

Once Ira was fed and proved she could walk around just fine, thank-you-very-much-Jaheira, the party had assembled in the common area on the second floor of the building to discuss their next move.

"We agreed to help Xzar and Montaron with the iron crisis, so we were planning on heading south. They said they only have so much time, and we've already gotten lost once. Would you come with us?"

Jaheira sat forward in her chair, setting her tea down and narrowing her eyes at Xzar as the necromancer fidgeted in place. Montaron leaned against the couch behind him, picking at his nails with a dagger. She seemed to think for a moment as she turned her eyes back towards Damion.

"It would seem our paths align. We too are here to look into the iron crisis, and Nashkel is where we were informed would be a good place to continue our investigation. It would be as good a place as any for you to hone your skills in regards to self defense as well, Damion. We are with you."

Damion relaxed where he sat, a small smile curling his lips up at the corners. It was the first honest one out of him since he had left Candlekeep, and Imoen leaned over to nudge him with her shoulder.

"It'll be good to be on the road again! I've done had enough of this place. It's too stuffy!"

"Yeah. It's-... Yeah."

"While we're heading south, I heard of a place we should stop by. Beregost, it's on the way and we can resupply there." Ira stretched where she was prone on the carpet, piping up and tucking her hands behind her head.

"Have you been there before, Ira?" Damion craned his neck to peer over the arm of the couch at her, and tilted his head at her shrug.

"Nah. Heard of it, is all. There's a… Gnome? Dwarf? Upstairs who's house there was taken over by spiders. Really big ones, and… He? She? They're looking for someone to get their stuff out of their house. Wine, boots, proof the spiders are dead, yada yada yada." She shrugged and closed her eyes.

"That... Shouldn't be -too- difficult, then. And we've got to go through there to get to Nashkel anyways, right?" Imoen peered over towards Jaheira, who nodded.

"Yes. It is between here and Naskhel on the main road." Jaheira leaned back in her chair. "There is something else I must address before we go, Damion."

He perked up, surprised.

"You are woefully unprepared for any kind of journey. You do not have food, you barely have any weapons, and you have only the most basic of healing supplies. It is perhaps one of Nature's greatest mysteries that you managed to get here in one piece. Come with us downstairs, and we will show you how to prepare. Imoen, you as well. The rest of you? We will be ready to leave shortly after lunch."

Ira eyed Jaheira from the carpet, even as Montaron's expression creased into a deep scowl.

"Pway time? Ohh, Mommy Mownty~, pwease can we go and pway?"

"Reign it in, Wizard!"

* * *

It was nearly an hour later, with Damion was in his room trying to figure out how best to pack everything, that Ira knocked on the open door.

"Can I come in."

"Hmm? Oh, yeah."

The door closed behind her, and Damion turned with a cautious and confused look.

"I'm going to split from the group. I need to get some supplies of my own, but I'll catch up with you folk in Nashkel. There's a few things I need to tell you, though. For starters, there's this." Ira stepped closer, holding out a crumpled piece of parchment, and Damion nodded as he took it. "Read it."

"What is… Two hundred gold? Why is there a-?" A hand clapped over his mouth, and Ira led him away from the door and kept her voice down.

"Look, Kid, I have no idea. But I have a hunch it's because you didn't get killed when your old man did. The armored arsehole told him to hand you over, after all. Second, Montaron and Xzar? They're not gunna mesh well with your new auntie and uncle. You need to decide what kind've leader you want to be, and fast. There's more'n two factions at work, but two's what seem to be orbiting around you right now. You need to be smart about how you play this. I'll give you some advice, the Wizard's not half as mad as you think he is, and twice as spiteful. He's also -alone-. He's got no powerful backing. Between those two, one holds the power and the other chafes at it. I'm not sure if it's by magic or not, but we're probably going to find out."

Ira took a moment to study Damion's face, before grinning crookedly at him.

"You play chess, Kid?"

"No."

"You should. You need to start to think about the forces around you. You can either be used by them or use them, 'cause they won't just leave you alone. Now I stole that parchment from the mage who tried to kill you when I caught him. You can expect more to come, so -think- about that. You've had a rough few days, but it's not going to get easier." Ira scrubbed a hand over her face, before folding her arms and eyeing him up and down. "If you let others lead you, then you're just going to be a pawn. Think about the people you travel with. Learn their motives. I'd wait to tell them about that piece of parchment until you know what they'd do with the information. Can you give me any guesses?"

Damion blinked, and sat down on the foot of the bed.

"Imoen… Imoen would panic. Khalid and Jaheira would… Be protective of me. Montaron and Xzar…" His face scrunched.

"Exactly. You see the problem. One of them'll care a whole lot more than the other about it."

"How much would it cost to keep Montaron Loyal?"

Ira snorted, tossing her head.

"There isn't enough gold in the realms I don't think."

"And Xzar?"

"Him it's less about money, I think. I still wouldn't trust him, but I'd consider him the better suited to sticking around than the other. He's practically an indentured servant."

"What about you?"

Ira blinked, before tilting her head.

"I've made it abundantly clear that I've no interest in handing you over to the arsehole you're going to help me kill. Neither've us are ready to take him yet."

"Do you play chess?"

She grinned, and flexed her fingers.

"All the time, Kid."

* * *

"Ira's gone."

_"What do I tell them?"_

_"Less is more in this case, Kid, 'till you learn to lie better."_

"Gone?" Imoen blinked, before partially standing up. "Where?"  
"I dunno. She came into my room while I was packing, and said she was leaving."

Jaheira's brows furrowed, and she glanced towards Khalid who shrugged slightly at her.

"Then we leave now. We have all prepared, and you are on a time limit, yes?" As polite as she could get, she looked towards Xzar and Montaron, both of whom nodded.

"Aye, sooner we get this done, the better. The wretch say why she was leaving?"

Damion shrugged.

"We're going south. She wanted to go north, back to Baldur's Gate to fight someone."

"Same guy as who killed yer da?"

He nodded, and they collected their gear and started for the door.

"I hope she stays safe." Imoen frowned as she settled into step next to Damion, who nodded once more.

"Yeah. I do too."

* * *

Ira paced herself as she made her way along the road. Not too fast, not too slow. She had half of the food Damion had been packing away and a knife, but otherwise traveled light. Her destination in mind, she knew she could cover more ground than they could, and had the determination to get there in one piece. She only hoped that she would have enough gold for what she wanted if other methods failed. As she traveled, she kept an eye out for a secluded spot a little ways off the road, and upon eventually finding one hunkered down in it to sit cross-legged and build a small fire, listening attentively to the world around her. No people? Good. She peered around to double check and then leaned towards the fire.

"_Tenterni._"

The fire flickered, and reshaped itself into a familiar place.

"Ahh~! Inreagira You finally called! You -never- call me! You should call me more oft-"

"I swear, if you don't shut up I'll piss on you to put you out." She cupped her hands around the fire, hissing out the words and peering around. The light tenor that had answered her hmpf'd, looking to the side as if offended even as she talked over the sound. "I need a wand of polymorph. Three charges. Keyed to be permanent."

"Whaaat? Oh, Darling, you -know- I can't do that. That's against the _rules_ you so stoically uphold~!"

"That's a bullshit reason and you know it."

The fire cackled at her, and she ducked down and kept an eye out.

"Alright, truuueee, you have me there. But I still cannot do this thing."

"Why not? You limp-dicked bastard, you said if I needed something I could call on you for it."

The face in the fire grinned cheekily up at her.

"_Don't wanna~._"

Ira sat very still for a long moment.

"I just said that because I wanted to see if proud and arrogant you ever -would-."

Silently, she started to stand, and undo the ties to her trousers.

"No, woah woah waitwaitwait! I can't send you a -wand- but I can tell you who canmakeonewhoisn'tthatfarawayfromyouuuuu!" The face in the fire cringed, turning away as if expect the worst, before cracking an eye open and blinking at the face that was now barely an inch from the flames. "Umm… Thalantyr. It won't be -cheap-, though. From what I hear tell, he's a crotchety old bastard."

"How do you know about him, eh? Fuckboy?"

"You -wound- me, Inreagira~! He's called Thalantyr the -Conjurer-. He's too careful for me to have ensnared. He knows the words and the rules. I know about him because I know to -avoid- him."

"So, if I were to, say, give him the name of a troublesome -idiot- then I should be golden."

"What?"

The indignant squawk pulled her lips into a smirk.

"You wouldn't!"

"I dunno, maybe I just _don't wanna_ keep your name a secret."

"Ungrateful _bitch._" The face in the flames fumed for a moment, before regaining its composure. "Look, tell you -what-. I gave you his name, I'll tell you how to get there and then we'll file that under _I helped your ugly ass. _In return, you -don't- tell him my name."

"And if I do?"

"I _know_ you. You turn me in, and I get you turned back into an _Lemure_. It's not -me- who's shirking their duty. That's a -looong- way for you to _regress_."

"Dretch fucker."

"Imp shit."

"Vrock winged flea-ridden hoofed bastard."

The face in the fire gasped, looking hurt.

"Alright, deal. How do I get there?"

The face went from hurt to thoughtful without missing a beat.

"Listen up. I'm only going to say this _once_."


	5. Best served messily

They made sure to stick to the road this time. A few encounters with gibberlings, one person who cautioned them about the dangers of the wilderness, and several footsore hours later had them all tired enough that they didn't notice the bandits until it was almost too late. Safe to say, the Necromancer noticed first with Xzar jerked back mid-step, blinking and humming at the arrow that seemed to have sprouted from his shoulder and peering over at the rest of the group.

"Ehm, ambush?"

"Get down!" Jaheira dove to the side, towards Damion and Imoen as they both rapidly backpedaled. A pair of thunks noted the arrival of Khalid's shield between Xzar and the scrubland the arrows were coming from, partially curling as he drew his sword and tried to get a more accurate idea on where they were being shot at from. Montaron scurried off to the side, cursing and ducking as three figures yelped and staggered out of the suddenly mobile and angry foliage they had been hiding in. Shouting from the area of her entanglement spurred Jaheira into moving to close the distance, bringing the staff to bear as Khalid caught up to her and used the shield to cover her flank, slashing one of the bandits as they tried to circle the pair.

Damion stared for a moment, watching as his body felt like it was filled with lead. It was different than the rats in the storehouse. Different than the wolves, and even then he had been reluctant to shoot them. But these… These were people.

_People attempting to take away your precious family._

The words were like a balm that spread through him, lightening his body and step.

_Kill them._

Time slowed, a slight smile curled his lips upwards, and he nocked an arrow to the shortbow in his grasp. The first arrow missed, aimed too far to the left in the hopes of avoiding Jaheira. The second slipped over her shoulder and buried itself into the bandit's eye, even as Imoen put one in the air and caught the circling bandit in the leg. He turned smoothly, noting that Khalid had used the distraction Imoen had provided to get through his guard and bury his longsword in the bandit's chest. An arrow clipped off of the fighters shield, and Damion advanced to get a better shot into the bushes.

A yelp answered his shot, before being cut off abruptly. As Jaheira brought low the final bandit, Montaron stepped out of the bushes the other two had been hiding in, cleaning his short sword as he went. That left only the remaining semi-conscious bandit that the druid had laid low, and the dark haired human stalked closer to study him.

"Xzar, come here."

The Necromancer crept closer, one hand applying pressure around the arrow that still sprouted from his shoulder.

"Mommy, I don't feel so good…"

"This one's yours."

There was a moment of quiet, before Jaheira stepped forward and tugged on Damion's arm.

"What are you doing? He is defeated!"  
"If we let him go, he goes and tells others about us Jaheira. He gets others, and they come back for us. We were ambushed on the steps of the inn, Jaheira. Xzar."

The Necromancer slipped closer, kneeling down next to the groaning bandit as he gleefully stretched his hands out, voice a low purr.

"Your voice is ambrosia~."

* * *

"Dami, can… we talk about today?"

Damion glanced over from where he was starting a fire to Imoen, before nodding and turning back to the task of feeding tinder into the flames.

"'Course, Im."

"You went a lil weird there, for a moment."

He sighed, shoulders slumping slightly.

"I… Yeah, I did. But it's not like last time. Its… I remember all of it. I didn't want to kill everyone, only the bandits. I was in control. That's a lot different than when I was trying to strangle cats."

"Yeah, but… you enjoyed it. You were grinning."

"Something troubling you?" Xzar loomed over the pair, peering at them almost upside down. Jaheira had finished scowling and dressing his wound, leaving him free to move about once more. "Important, yes? To enjoy one's victories?"

"You're all buffleheaded! Killing's wrong, if it can be avoided it should be!"

"Hey…"

"But dah wabbits-"

"Hey!" Damion's tone cut across the budding argument, and he scrubbed a hand across his face. "I stand by what I said. They're bandits, and the fewer people who can report where we've been the better. They wouldn't have gone into this if they weren't aware they might get killed. If someone kills you, Im, and i've got a chance to avenge you are you saying just because the guy's been knocked out I should let him go? Should I just forgive and forget the murderer who killed my Father!?"

He paused for breath, shaking as he stared down at Imoen. He hadn't realized he had stood up, nor that he was shouting although the looks he was getting from Khalid and Jaheira across the camp told him as much.

"Dami… I… I'm sorry."

"No, Im, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-... They attacked -us-. And I can't just go around expecting things to be easy, expecting that everyone will protect me all the time. I don't want you to get hurt, and I don't want-" Damion sucked in another breath, letting it out slowly as he rubbed a hand across his face. "... I don't want to lose anyone else, if I can do something about it. If that means killing some stranger who pointed a weapon at my friends with the intent to kill them to keep him from coming back, then so be it."  
Imoen stepped closer to lower her voice, wrapping her arms around her brother and sighing into his shoulder as he tentatively returned the hug.

"It's okay, Dami. It's okay. I'm just worried about you. Remember the cats? You looked like that. That's all. I promised I wouldn't let you be like that again."

"I know, I just… I'm sorry, Imsy."

She drew back, smiling up at Damion.

"Let's get camp set up. Come on!"  
"Damiond." Jaheira stood up from where she and Khalid had been putting their tent together. "We must speak."

"I-ahh... " He looked to Imoen, who gave him an apologetic shrug and stepped away, leaving him to rub the back of his head and turn towards the druid. "Alright. Lead on."

Jaheira turned to face him once they were a little ways from the camp, and eyed Damion up and down.

"This is important, Damion. Do you know who the Harpers are?"

A person who talks non stop, he thought but managed not to say out loud.

"I've read about them."

She nodded, relaxing slightly and giving him an encouraging smile.

"Then you know we work for the good of the realm. This is why Khalid and I are here, though we leapt at the chance to see Gorion again. What happened to him-" she paused, seeing the way Damions shoulders slumped, and her tone softened slightly. "... What happened to him was not your fault. Khalid and I spoke of it, and we came to the conclusion he very likely used magic to force you to flee. It would have been well within his power to do so. Once we have completed our duties in Nashkel, we would travel with you still if you would have us."

"And if I wouldn't? Erm, wont? Have you with me?" Damion lifted his gaze to meet hers, expression cautious more than anything. Jaheira folded her arms, returning the look neutrally.

"Khalid and I also spoke on this. We would remain in the area for a time incase you needed us once more, at the friendly arm inn if we could. The Mirrorshades are friends of ours. It is our duty to see you are well, it is the least we could do in memory of Gorion, but your path is yours to walk. I will not lie to you, you already travel with dangerous people who would turn on you at a moment's notice but you are an adult, if only just." She seemed to realize her words, and lifted her hands quickly. "That is not- you are young, and it is simply difficult to see Gorions child as-"

"As an adult?" His words were carefully neutral, even as he looked around slowly. "I know i'm not very good at fighting. I'm not stupid but I'm almost twenty-"

"-As not of my own family, Damion. And I would not wish my family forced to fight alone if they must fight at all!"

He flinched at her words, the frustration that had been boiling within him increasing with the turmoil of confusion.

"You are not alone. You have Imoen. You have us. You-"

"I need… To think about it."

Jaheira sighed, before nodding.

"Today has been long and exhausting. Speak with me again on the morrow, yes? If nothing else, speak with Khalid."

Damion nodded as well, before turning and slipping back to the camp.

* * *

Xzar didn't look up from his spellbook as he heard Damion return to the camp. Wheels had been turning in his head, and he wordlessly noted the way their 'Leader' went immediately to his bedroll and proceeded to lay as still as a log. Trouble with the hag, he pondered, and licked his lips while turning a page. He was young, he was grieving and coming into the world sideways it seemed. A giggle escaped him as his mind turned to chickens laying eggs sideways, cows who needed their calves turned, and flopped back onto his own bedroll, feet crossing at the ankles.

There had been the beginnings of a plan there, he mused, thinking over the strands of thought that slipped through his fingers like so many strands of gossamer thread. He was starting to be able to catch the tail ends of them, and tucked his spellbook against his chest to reach his hands towards the sky.

"What're ye doin', ya daft Wizard?"

"MONTARON!" The name was shouted out as Xzar lost track of his thoughts and, frustrated, sat up to throw his spellbook down onto his lap and glare at the halfling. "You are so AGGRAVATING! 'Tis disturbing to my demeanor!"

"Yer demeanor was disturbed long before ye got lumped with me, Wizard!" Montaron leaned forward with a scowl and jabbed the knife he had been cutting cheese with towards the necromancer. "Don't you forget the why of it neither. This is as much a punishment fer me as it is parole fer you."

Xzar's expression faltered, before he blinked large eyes at the halfling and quivered his lower lip. "Tell me ah stowy, Momma Mawntie~ Mawwwntie, ahm scaweded!"

The halfing's scowl grew darker, and he opened his mouth to likely sharply retort before Imoen came over.  
"What's wrong, Xzar?"

Xzar could have almost squealed in joy at the disgust on Montaron's face as he turned to drape himself against the pink-clad thief, voice dropping from the child-like whine to a thicker, rougher alto.

"Duhhh, tell me about da waaaabits~!"

She patted him awkwardly on the back, before shifting him back to his bedroll.

"Gee, I dunno. I've already told all my rabbit stories. Oh! Did I tell you the one about Old Gristlegut's turkey dinner, where a big bad necromancer blustered in with his apprentice and they animated the main course?"

Kicking his feet happily, Xzar pulled his blanket up to his chin and settled down, voraciously enjoying the way the halfling stalked off into the bushes.

* * *

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck-" Ira scrambled up the side of the building, cursing as a halberd whiffed under her and scraped against the stone of the building. Once she tipped over onto the roof, she rolled and stretched out to avoid being a target for any thrown projectiles, only to grimace and shift so that she could pull the throwing dagger out of the back of her shoulder.

The first few months were always the -hardest-, when it came to trying to adjust to the routine a mortal had to get into. It was far weaker and slower than what she was used to. It also bled a whole lot more, and she rolled again so that she could sit up and start to bind the wound, cursing the information the Sensate had oh so innocently left out of his directions.


	6. Best served duplicitously

Damion kept mostly to himself as they reached Beregost, turning the recent events over in his mind. The weight of the bounty notice sat like lead in his pocket, and only seemed to gain in mass as he watched Khalid and Imoen talking back and forth. He thought about his own ability to fight, and grimaced before shaking his head.

"Something troubling you?"

Damion jumped slightly, glancing guiltily over to the necromancer that had taken the opportunity to fall into step next to him.

"No."

Green eyes partially lidded, and Xzar's voice dropped to a low purr.

"You are an unhealthily -poor- liar. Cooome, speeeak, the wee man is under the sour wenches watchful eye. For now."

"It's noth-"

"Ah-ah-ah~, naughty little nobody, lying once more."

"I don't think you'd understand, Xzar, is the thing." Damion turned slightly away, exasperated. "So that's why I say it's nothing."

"It's the girl, isn't it. It is -always- a girl…"

"Imoen? It's- She's my sister, Xzar. Family. I have to protect her, but I don't know how."

Xzar recoiled slightly, stepping away and hunching his shoulders to mutter.

"Nae, -family-, 'course' Xzar the Bastard could nae know what a -family-, is, ne? No nae never, no more. For ah'll play the wild rover, no nae never, no more...

"Xzar, wait-" Damion shrunk slightly as the necromancer wandered off to the side a bit, hands tucked into the pockets of his robes and his head down and sighed, moving to try and snag him by the sleeve. He should have expected the way that Xzar whipped his head around, hands rising to his mouth as his eyes went wide, voice bursting out in a shriek.

"Stop TOUCHING me!"

Damion let go, stepping back hastily and raising his hands defensively. He felt something shifting within him, mixing with his frustration and confusion, could feel it climbing up the back of his throat almost thick enough to choke him.

"I wasn't-"

_Annoying._

"What'd ye go and set the Daft Wizard off for, boy?"

"I didn't mean to-"

"Monster! Meanie! MOMMY!"

"Xzar, ENOUGH!" The internal dam burst, and with it Damion's voice gained strength and volume and echoed off the buildings as he stood there and blinked at the Necromancer who had gone stock still. Eyes wide, Xzar's jaw worked soundlessly before he clutched his fingers to it and nodded meekly and the halfling who had been on his way shifted uneasily.

"... How'd you do that? He never shuts up."  
Damion looked between the Zhents, confused and spread his hands.  
"I, ahh… Well, I'm pretty sure he doesn't shut up for you because he doesn't like you. No mystery there, right Xzar?"  
There was another meek nod and quiet affirmation.

"We're falling behind. Let's go."

Another meek nod and quiet affirmation, and as Damion brushed past the pair Xzar skittered along to keep close, leaving Montaron to stand confused for a moment before he scowled and started after the group.

* * *

It had been brief, and it hadn't been much, but Xzar had felt _it_, for just a moment. Euphoria had surged through him in answer, leaving him shaking as he trailed after the source like an obedient little duckling. Feeling the familiar edge of command had almost sent him to his knees, and as he moved his mind flit back and forth between past and present. Hours at an alter, head bowed in prayer desperate to hear a voice that no longer spoke to him rolled into rabbits and mice spawning and then into how the young man walked before him.

There was no -confidence-, or if there was it was almost nonexistent. There was raw emotion, buried in an attempt to contain and control it, because… Because why, Xzar pondered, tingling as he recalled the look of arrogance and disgust that had briefly flashed across Damion's face, and how it had melted into panic and shame almost immediately. Gnawing on his fingers, he glanced back to keep tabs on Montaron and bit down particularly hard on a knuckle as he noted the way the halfling was looking at Damion.

He didn't particularly care for it, but there was nothing he could do for now. Still, he would watch and he would wait. If what Damion wanted was for the pink girl to remain safe, then it would be a nice distraction. Smiling around his bloody knuckles, the necromancer licked his lips and picked up the waist of his robes, skipping up ahead to fall into step next to Imoen.

"Story tiiime~!"

* * *

The house was abandoned, as was expected. Still, Khalid knocked just to make sure.

"We go in, and we fight carefully. Keep the archers and the wizard secure, and avoid their fangs as much as you can. I will stand center, to provide relief if you are bitten, but there are only so many times I can do this thing. Are we agreed?" Jaheira, though she spoke to the group, stared openly at Montaron as the halfling scoffed.

"Ye think yer magic will be enough to protect six people? Yer daft, wen-"

"Ohh~! Good idea, good idea, yes yes yes~!" Xzar stepped in front of Montaron with a flourish of his robes, beaming at the half-elf and how she quirked an eyebrow at the display. "We will go in, and fight as a UNIT~! Isn't it -glorious-, Monty~! People to take the hits for us!"

"Ye daft- She puts -me- on the front li-"

"Now now, Montyyy~," Xzar's voice went from a joyful croon to a low hiss as he spun and leaned down. "The less they die, the more they make it to Nashkel. -I- do not feel like being -eaten- by a -wolf- again. Hmpf!"

"I've got the lock!"

"Then we are ready." Jaheira moved to the door, nodding to Imoen in approval and looking to the rest while fighting to keep the amusement off her face.

"What? Ready? Yer-"

The door opened, and a set of hands propelled the halfling in as the rest of the group surged in around him.

* * *

"That could have gone worse." Damion sat on a chair that was missing it's back, watching as Jaheira inspected the puncture marks on Khalid's arm and washed out a yellow ichor that had caked itself around the wound. Xzar had pulled the spiders into a pile and was humming happily to himself as he divested them of their fangs as Montaron deftly removed their venom sacks, and Imoen gave her brother a wry look as she righted the table.

"We got lucky, Dami. Smart move, though, to flip the table and use it as cover. That sure helped!"

"Yeah. I was just sort of… Panicking, really, but it turned out. Did we find what she wanted us to look for?"

"Umm, I think she mentioned a chest. Only one I've seen was by the foot of the bed."

"Would you check it out please, Im?"

She nodded, before moving to crouch down and start to inspect the lock as Damion looked towards the couple standing closer to the door. With a sigh, he stood and limped his way over. "Jaheira? I'm going to sit outside for a moment. Can you check my leg?"

"What? I already cast upon you to-"

"Please, Jaheira? It hurts."

The half-elf gave him a tolerant look, before nodding and heading outside with a murmur to Khalid. Damion joined her slowly, before sitting down on the lawn and grimacing while the druid crouched down next to him and poked at his leg.

"Now, what is it that is so important you must fake a limp with the leg you were -not- bit upon?"

"... I want you and Khalid to take Imoen and keep her safe. I don't care where you take her, but she's not… Safe, around me." Damion shifted to retrieve the bounty notice, holding it out and looking back towards the door. Khalid was leaning against the doorway, humming and bandaging his arm, but otherwise nobody seemed to be close enough to hear their conversation. "I know what you're going to say, and it's got merit. I know I'm not much of a fighter. But… I don't want any of my family to get caught up in this. Not Imoen… And not you or Khalid either."

Jaheira pursed her lips, folding the parchment and returning it as she fixed him with a level stare.

"If you know what I would say, than you must know my next point."

"It's not a hard one to guess at. They're not very good people, no, but if they get killed… They're not my family. They can't be used against me."

"And if they turn you in, to collect on this themselves?"

Damion turned the words over in his mind, before shaking his head.

"I'm going to see if I can find Ira. She said she'd meet us in Nashkel, and she's got reasons to keep me from being handed in. While you're protecting Imoen, I sort of wanted you to kind of see if you could look into this too, for me."

"As Harpers, you are aware it is our duty to look into the iron crisis, yes? We spoke on this."  
"And I promise I'll bring anything we find to you. I'll write letters when I can, and-"

Jaheira sighed, holding up a hand.

"I propose a compromise. We will travel behind your group, so that you will always have us to fall back on if you are in trouble. But, we will watch over you from afar and seek information, as you ask. In this, we keep balance with our wants."

"And you'll protect Imoen?"

"As if she were our own."

Damion nodded, knowing that was all the compromise he was going to get.

* * *

"Imoen, come. Khalid and I are going to collect supplies for the group, and you need better armor."

"But-"

"-And new clothes. Perhaps if we are lucky, we shall find a shop that sells wands."

"But-!"

Jaheira firmly led Imoen out as Damion waved.

"See if you can get some black dye for some fletching, Imsy!"

Xzar leaned out of the doorway as the trio left, looking between them and Damion as the latter pushed himself up. Montaron leaned out of the doorway and scowled before blinking at Damion as he hopped a few times and tested his leg.

"That should buy us some time. Come on, let's get going. I don't want them hanging over us any more."

"Ye speak at me?"

"No, Montaron. The other halfling. We're ditching them. I hope that's not a problem?"

"Well, nae, beyond that ye sent the bodies I'd put 'tween me and a blade away."

"We'll be alright. With luck, we won't need to fight too many things in Nashkel. I've got a short sword, I'll take point. There's light enough left in the day that we can make some time."

Montaron looked between Xzar and Damion, as if one had infected the other, before shrugging and making it a point to keep behind their Taskmaster.

* * *

"But Dami might get attacked again! We shouldn't have-"

"Imoen, do you think for a moment that we do not agree with you? He is worried, and does not trust that any of us will be used against him. We will not be far behind them, regardless, so he will be able to retreat to us if needed."

"I s-still d-d-don't like it…"

"I know, Khalid." Jaheira sighed, looking between the two who shared the table with her at the Jovial Juggler. Imoen shifted in her chair as Khalid frowned sadly down at his soup. "He is determined to use himself as bait, and expects to find Ira in Nashkel. While he draws their eye, he hopes we may uncover something of whoever put this bounty out."

"But you know he's terrible at lying! What if they catch on? What if Xzar tries to eat him? Who'll protect him from them between here and Nashkel?"

"I do not have an answer for you, Imoen." Jaheira sighed and rubbed her temples, thinking of all the ways things could go wrong and disliking them all. "I wish that I did, but all we can do is hope that nature provides."

* * *

Ira peered down from where she had spidered up the wall, watching the flesh golems as they stared up at her. The second one was standing slightly behind the first, and every now and then they bumped mindlessly against one another. Experimentally, she shifted a few feet along the wall, and frowned at how they kept pace with her.

"Well fuck."


	7. Best served hastily

It wasn't called the 'Jovial Juggler' for nothing.

Atop a table, stood a man wearing a multi-colour onesie festooned with bells. He was balanced on one foot, while the other helped to keep the plethora of items he was juggling airborne. When asked what he could juggle, he replied with anything the size of his arm, up to a width of a foot and under fifteen pounds. His limit, he said as he winked a blue eye, was twelve items, but his record was twenty seven for six seconds. Half of them on fire.

He seemed particularly interested in Imoen, and slipped from table to chair back to table to seek her out and trade stories with her. He was outrageous and cheerful and when he took his break, turned out to be utterly cheeky, as noted by how he bought Imoen an apple cider and then surprised her with a kiss. Of course, he just laughed and pranced away to leave her floundering as Jaheira came over to shepherd Imoen back to their table.

"I'm still worried about Damion. What if Ira's gotten hurt and doesn't make it to Nashkel? What if he gets hurt before they meet up?"  
"Did you say Ira~?"

"Shoo, fool. This does not concern you." Jaheira leveled a piercing glare towards the juggler, who had snuck back somehow largely undetected despite the plethora of bells sewn to his outfit.

"Oh, but it does~! Maybe. Short, elf, punchy?"

"You know Ira?" Imoen blinked at the jester, who dipped into a low bow before straightening and balancing his glass of water atop his head.

"We're mutually beneficial acquaintances. I was under the impression she was going to High Hedge, to see Thalantyr the Conjurer, and then she was to meet me here." The juggler stretched, before blinking at the group. "If you need her to go to Nashkel quicker, you should probably go and meet her there and tell her to get going."

"And what of her meeting with you, then?" Jaheira narrowed her eyes, folding her arms and searching his face for anything that might lead to trouble.

"It'll keep. I was just going to pester and tease her anyways." He swiped the water off his head, taking a sip before draping himself over the back of Imoen's chair, looming over her shoulder and offering his drink to her. "Thirsty?"

* * *

Ira sat on the steps of High Hedge, elbows on her knees and hands supporting her chin as she contemplated ways to get rich quick. She had never really thought about gold as something she really wanted; It was worth practically nothing beyond something decorative to melt down or make things out of when compared to the more common forms of currency her kind dealt with. She had the option of paying in labour, as the mage's apprentice had apparently vanished and Thalantyr didn't want to bother cleaning up after himself, but she balked at the thought. It had been hard to master her indignation when cleaning had been offered as an alternative.

"I'll have to come back and let you know if I'll have the time to. I'm supposed to meet some people pretty soon." Ira had answered, and politely taken her leave. She pondered over if it was worth it to debase herself like that or not, considering the benefits and the-

Grass was disturbed nearby, and she glanced over before straightening.

"Jaheira? What're you doing here. Hey Khalid, Imoen."

"We must talk. Something has come up."

Ira narrowed her eyes. Imoen was clearly out of breath, while Khalid looked more or less minorly winded. The druid, however, looked fresh.

"... What's wrong, that you three had to bolt out here as fast as the kids legs could carry her?"

"Damion has split from the group with Montaron and Xzar because of a bounty placed on his head. He-"

"-Wants to protect the kid, gotcha. Surprised he parted with you two so quick, but her I can understand. You want me to do what about this, exactly?"

"You… You gotta go help him!" Imoen leaned against the tree, catching her breath still. "What if… What if he gets-"

"Breathe, kid. Look, I dunno where he might be between here and Nashkel. Why don't -you- do something?"

"We promised we would keep back."

"Right." Ira shot Jaheira an exasperated look. "You know how many things could go wrong with that, right? It wouldn't take much for the half-man to come to conclusions about a bounty and, on top of that, Xzar wouldn't be able to lift a finger to stop him if Montaron spite-killed the Kid. And the Kid can't fight his way out of a wet paper bag yet."

"We are well aware. This is why we need you, yes?" The druid folded her arms, narrowing her eyes. "You seem to have no problem with pulling him out of danger, be it by the back of his shirt. Imoen says you already have, in fact."

Ira eyed the pink-clad girl, who smiled sheepishly.

"Was like you didn't even think about it. Ya just yanked and threw before-"

"I was there, kid."

Imoen smiled sheepishly at Ira's wry tone, before rubbing the back of her head.

"Alright, look, help me with this puzzle and I'll keep on the Kid's ass and keep shivs from finding his soft spots, alright? Not that it's any -business- of yours, but Xzar'll turn if Montaron's dealt with. Thing is, can't kill the half-man or we lose Xzar."

"And you want the madman turned because…?" Jaheira lofted an eyebrow, studying Ira curiously and warily. "He is no better morally than the halfling."

"Seem to recall saying something about none've your business, that." Ira idly inspected a fingernail, before flicking imaginary dirt out from under it away into the grass. "It'll be beneficial in the long run, trust me on that. Came here looking to get a wand of polymorph, keyed to something small and cageable, but I can't afford it. Fits with your goodly morals, doesn't it? Getting rid of someone in a way where they don't die. Killing being bad, and all that."

Imoen coloured slightly, even as Jaheira narrowed her eyes.

"Right. Undeserved, that jab. My bad."

"It's… Okay. You don't look like you're having a good day."

Ira let out a brief bark of a laugh, shaking her head.

"I was chased around by flesh golems that could -climb- for most've the day. Not a good day, yeah, you could say that. He's got them standing down for the moment, though."

"If we arrange for payment of this wand, then, you would leave immediately?"

"Jaheira, I'd leave immediately and _run_, if your Khalid gave his word. Of you all, I trust his sense've right and wrong more than either've yours. One of you is naive, the other agreed to let a seventeen year old with little to no combat training run around with two assholes, one of which has a tendency to stab things that irk him."

Khalid blinked, glancing over from where he had been keeping an eye on the surrounding area and otherwise keeping out of the conversation.

"Ja-Ja-Jaheira?"

The druid remained silent for a moment before looking over to her husband and nodding.

"For the group."

* * *

Damion pressed back against the rock, panting and trying not to think about the arrow that was in his leg. Xzar was further back, muttering under his breath in a harsh-sounding language as he tore the hem of his robes into strips and then turned towards Damion to start binding around the arrow wound. Montaron was nowhere to be found, though from the sounds of the hobgoblins they were narrowing down where the halfling had disappeared to. Shouts of alarm went up to the west, and he figured that whatever Montaron had been planning, he hoped it had worked out for him.

The shouting continued, and as Xzar hauled the arrow out of his leg, he almost collapsed before the potion the necromancer had dumped over the wound took the edge off the pain. Jerking at a the shadow that loomed over them, Damion brought his broken short sword to bear only to realize the hobgoblin was running past, looking panicked before a sword went spiraling through the air and slammed on an angle into its back and laying the hobgoblin low. The screams had mostly trailed off, and the necromancer pressed a hand against Damion's chest to keep him pressed against the rock while he slipped out to the side. Still for a long moment, Xzar surveyed the scene before waving Damion out from the cover of the rocks.

Ira lay stretched out in the middle of the clearing by the hobgoblin's fire, chest heaving as she sucked in great gasps of air, causing the two arrows that protruded from her to shift and quiver. Four hobgoblins were scattered about the camp, a fifth partially sticking out of a bush where it appeared to have fallen forward out of cover.

"Ira!"

Damion hurried forward, dropping the broken sword and rooting through a pouch to dig out another potion, dumping it into her mouth and blinking as she sputtered and coughed, blinking peering groggily up to the human.

"Damn. Sup."

"How did you find us?"

Ira blinked owlishly, before peering at the arrow lodged in her side.

"... Ow. Road. Time. -Math-."

"You… Came back for us?"

Her brow furrowed and she lifted her gaze up towards Damion.

"... Yes? Shoo, I gotta sit up and dig this pointy thing out've my chest."

Damion blinked, before slinking back slightly, frowning as she dug a potion out of a pocket and tore the offending arrow out. Grunting, she eyed the second one before pulling it out as well.

"Damion? Word t'th'wise. Don' ever do that."

"Do what?"

"Pull arrows out've you like that. Is bad. Makes worse." Wobbling as she sat up, she drank half the potion, and poured the rest in equal measures over the two puncture wounds.

"Wh-? Why would you do it then!?"

"'Cause dumb."

She grimaced, before tearing off a leg of her cloth pants and starting to rip it into strips, binding the result around her torso.

"Alright, Kid, Xzar. I'm assuming the halfling's around here somewhere. I'm also assuming there's still a time limit in effect. Right, Madman?"

Xzar scowled at her, but nodded and opened his mouth before being cut off by Ira.

"Not pertinent right now, moving on. Means there's no option of going back, so we've got two choices. Stick to the bandit-watched road or see how long Xzar can run for and how quiet you can move, Kid. Your call. One involves probably dying and the other doesn't."

"But the roads are safer-" Xzar giggled, interrupting Damion as he reached out to poke the dark haired human's nose.

"Says the guy who apparently walked into a hobgoblin camp on the same damned road~."

Damion flinched, before hunching and looking away.

"Exactly. Now, I ran here using oils've speed. My limbs feel like lead, and I'm not sure how well I can move in general. Best bet's to find somewhere a little further away from the camp after we loot the -shit- out of it, and then call it a night. Because it almost is, anyways. Any complaints?"

She peered tiredly between the two, and then looked over to Montaron as the halfling scowled his way out of the bush.

"Didn't think so. Help me up then, Kid."


	8. Best served painfully

_"How long ago did they leave?" Ira stretched as she glanced over to Jaheira joints popping quietly as she limbered up._

_"Maybe two hours ago. A little less. How will you intercept them?"_

_"Well, Damion's not likely to go off the road, considering how they got lost the first time."_

_"Hey! You were with us too, and you were just as lost as we were!"_

_Ira snorted, before putting her hands on her hips and quirking a brow at Imoen._

_"Was not. I always know where I am, and I always know how to get back. Now, we're already a little bit south of Beregost, relatively speaking, so at a walk - 'cause I doubt they're moving much faster than that - they'd be about…" She peered upwards, before eyeing the woods. "Anyone know if the road goes straight south from Beregost?"_

_"It does not. It curves east, somewhat, but overall remains southish." Jaheira leaned on her staff, frowning. "What you say you can do, is akin to shooting an arrow at a moving target through dense woods that you heard ten minutes ago."_

_"Yep. I'm -really- good at hunting. All in the nose and ears, and trusting your instincts. That sorta stuff."_

_"And if you are wrong?"_

_"Then I wander the area and listen for Xzar's shrieks. Won't need to, though, I've done this before. 'S how I kept tabs on the armored arsehole. I know enough about Damion and the other two to have an idea of how fast they move, and so long as I can get some sort of an edge I won't have to tack too far south. Speaking of, kid, you have two oils of speed still, right?"_

_Imoen blinked, before nodding and colouring once more._

_"How did you know?"_

_"I could hear you and Montaron having your own private little war. You came out on top, but only because you were smart enough to hide stuff when you said you were going to the bathroom. I'm gunna need'em."_

_"You… If you use them, you'll exhaust yourself before you get there, Ira."_

_"Look, d'you want me to get to them as quick as I can, or not?" She grimaced, folding her arms. "You can either trust me, or don't. But they'll help."_

_Imoen frowned, before digging out both oils and offering them out._

_"I'm just saying, be careful."_

_"I am with Imoen on this. If you exhaust yourself before you get there, you will be of no use to him."_

_Ira snickered, raising her hands after tucking both oils away._

_"Isn't it great, that we're all assuming that I'm going to get there while Montaron's trying to kill Damion? Don't worry, I'm an expert."_

_With that, Ira turned and set off into the woods at a full run, leaving the others behind to peer at her retreating form. Imoen turned towards Jaheira with a frown, pressing her fingers together._

_"Hey, Jaheira, how can you hear what type of potion's in a sealed bottle?"_

_"You cannot." Jaheira's eyes narrowed as she pursed her lips._

* * *

_She ended up a little too far south, limbs numb and two oils of speed consumed. They lasted about five minutes each, which was -great-, but the fatigue that came after was starting to build. Still, she made good time, even if she had to cheat a little bit to do it. The borrowed body was still changing, still malleable, and so if the legs bulked a little bit and her nails grew a little thick and pointed, who would have known?_

_Only the animals that stilled as she bolted past._

_And so it was that her stride covered that extra inch, that added up to an extra foot of distance and that extra second saved while she pounded along. There was nothing graceful about it, only rapid movement that was meant to get her from point a to point b with the least effort, and even if the body was still getting used to her occupancy, it was small and light. The feel of it, the feel of running, the steady inhale and exhale cast her mind back to ambushing cambions along the Blood Rift._

_Nostalgic, if nothing else, but Ira was keen to keep her attention on the world around her. Ears perked as she ran, she skirted south around a building that had partially sank into the bog it had been built on the edge of before bursting out across the road and came to a stop. Nostrils flaring, she sniffed around for a moment and frowned._

_Nothing familiar there, but still. They could have gone off the road-_

_Ever so faintly, her ears picked out a shout of 'Forward march!', and she downed the final oil of speed and slipped north to investigate. She should have been surprised, but as she slunk through the underbrush she noted a startled looking Damion stumble back with a broken sword in hand, Xzar darting past to claw at a hobgoblin and leave a patch of frost along its side, leaving it to topple forward and expose Damion to the arrows of the archers set a little ways back._

_As an arrow caught the kid in the leg, Xzar hauled him physically back into the rocks for some cover, while to the south east somewhere Montaron cursed and metal clanged off metal. A moment of focus had four pairs of footsteps, one much lighter than the others, dancing in her ears before she cast her eyes across the four archers and remaining swordsman that were pinning the necromancer and their 'fearless' leader down._

_Grimacing, she circled around, pulse pounding in her ears to pick the hobgoblin the farthest back and stick a dagger into his kidneys. With a shout, he spun and backpedaled, so she lifted a foot and gave him a helpful boot to leave him dying as the dagger was driven into his spine when he impacted with the ground and partially sprawled out of the scrub he had been hiding behind. One of the archers to her immediate left snapped a shot off before she closed the distance, adrenaline numbing the pain as she came in and slammed a fist into his gut. Doubling over got his throat in reach of her free hand, which she used to haul him down use as a partial shield even as she jabbed her free hand behind his head and cranked his head around. The snap of a bowstring behind her had Ira diving over the corpse into a roll, snapping the shaft of the arrow in her torso and use her momentum to straighten and push off the ground with her arms. Anything vital was too far away, she had reasoned, but as her feet slammed into the hobgoblin's groin she felt a sense of satisfaction for how his face drained of colour and his eyes widened. Twisting to the side, she regained her feet and snatched up the longsword from the staggered hobgoblin's belt, bringing it across and up to take a chunk out of his throat before twisting and stepping to the side as the swordsman lumbered past and his companion's body dropped behind the concealing bush._

_Even with her limbs heavy from her run there, the oil of speed made them seem -slow-. Slipping around the swordsman, she brought the blade across and took his hand clean off, sending him staggering back and bellowing in fear. The dull thunk of an arrow meeting her torso had her glancing down and then over to the final archer, stepping quickly over to bring the sword across and hack the bow from his hands. Letting go of the weapon after the uncoordinated strike, she snapped her hand out to catch his and haul him forward as she leapt up, slamming a knee into his stomach and enjoying the way he grunted before laying in to his chest and face as he staggered back._

_Lamenting the fact her fingers ended in flimsy nails instead of thick, sturdy claws, she slammed her fist into the hobgoblin's broken nose and nodded in satisfaction at how he spasmed when the pieces were driven into his brain. Letting the body drop, she peered around to note the one-handed swordsman making east for the road and belated recalled that Damion and Xzar were hiding among the rocks there. Metal glinted, the longsword on the ground giving her -ideas- before she scooped it up and hurled it end over end towards the fleeing hobgoblin._

_A satisfied smile curled the corners of her mouth up until the oil of speed wore off, vision swimming. Exhaustion hit her like a wagon full of bricks, and she wobbled before turning and collapsing onto the ground, trying to land on her back to keep from driving the arrows the rest of the way through her._

_"Ira!"_

* * *

"So yeah, that's pretty much how I found you guys. More or less." Ira sipped from her watery soup, ignoring the taste much the same way she was ignoring the throbbing of the half-healed arrow wounds in her torso. It hadn't taken long for her to give them an abridged version of her journey, leaving out the entirety of the conversation with Jaheira and the others as well as the reason she had been in the area, sticking with a brief description of slinking through the underbrush and catching the shouting of the fighting. "I was really lost until I heard that, so… Thanks, I guess."

"Any luck finding the armored guy?"

"Nah. And if I can't even find Baldur's Gate, a huge city?... Well, guess I better just stick with you for now."

Ira sipped the soup once more, wiggling her nose and ignoring the mistrustful way that Montaron was eyeing her. Xzar, for his part, kept blessedly silent about what she had said before the halfling had joined them. It made the flimsy lie a little sturdier, and that thought made her grimace.

She had always hated lying. It was a necessity sometimes, unfortunately.

"Well, we're still going to Nashkel, so… You're welcome to travel with us for now."

"Thanks, Kid. Much appreciated."

Damion smiled, looking relieved as he settled down by the campfire and started picking through the spoils of the hobgoblin camp while the others settled down to, on the part of the halfling, sleep lightly.

"Alright Kid. They're both asleep. You can stop pretending now."

Damion shot up and scrabbled over, throwing his arms around the elf as she stiffened and grunted.

"The fuck-?"

"Ira, you have no idea how happy I am to see you!" Damion hissed out the words, trying to whisper and squeezing the smaller elf as she prodded him in the side.

"Yeah, that's nice, now lemme go, yeah? Remember the arrows?"

He blinked, before letting go of the elf as if she had burned him.

"Sorry, sorry, I-"

"Yeah, woah, slow down Kid. Look, what the hell are you doing?"

"Imoen- I couldn't-"

Ira rolled her eyes, reaching out to put a hand over Damion's mouth.

"Alright, about as expected. You… Are really bad at fighting. So what we're gunna do, and it's going to -suck- for you, is I'll be up for your watch and -you- are going to shoot things. You're going to shoot until you've broken all your arrows, and then after I teach you how to make more, you'll shoot those too. 'Cause you're pretty pathetic right now. With a sword? You suck. We'll work on something to hit people with if they get too close later, but for now? Bow. You use a bow and you sleep with a bow and you eat, breath, and fuck the bow. Alright?"

Damion nodded slightly, eyes wide as she removed her hand.

"Ah-ah-ah, don't say anything. Get your bow. Get the arrows. We'll start by making sure you can carry and access what you need to quickly."

He nodded once more, before startling as she gestured towards the pile of sorted spoils.

"Well? Get to it."

* * *

Montaron gawked at Damion as he returned to the clearing. The camp was packed up, and he had stepped away to relieve himself only to return and find… Ridiculousness.

Damion had a pair of quivers hanging the way one would wear a pair of swords on their waist, and another two offered their fletched cargo over each of his shoulders. He looked as if he had barely slept, and clutched one of the hobgoblin's longbows with bleeding hands.

"What've ye done to yerself now, boy?"

"Nothing."

"Bowstring, Montaron. Cut himself with it. He'll heal."

He side-eyed the elf, lips pulling into a scowl at how she was upright and walking. She didn't seem particularly phased, beyond the slight yellow-green of her bruised fingers and the cloth wrapped about her torso that was acting as a bandage. Shaking his head, he muttered a curse under his breath and turned to see that Xzar was watching the group with curious eyes.

"Momma Monty, i gotta go potty…"

"Well what're ye bloody well tellin' me fer? Go on, get!"

Xzar clapped his hands with glee, before bolting into the underbrush as Ira blinked and peered towards the north east a moment before an unfamiliar figure came stumbling out and halted, panting for breath.

"Help me! If you don't help me, they'll kill me!"


	9. Best served by Noober

"Woah, calm down lady." Ira held her hands up, before peering around behind her and murmuring to Damion. "Got someone in plate armor lumbering through the woods, and coming this way."

"Bah, she's no problem of ours."

"My name is Viconia, please, you have to help me! I did nothing wrong!"

Damion opened his mouth to say something before Ira nudged him forward with a murmured 'cleric, can prob'ly heal, help her'.

"Al-alright, uhh, we'll help you-"

"Thank you!"

"Stand away, citizen!"

"Oh boy."

Damion glanced back at Ira, before looking towards the heavily armored figure as he cleared the bush.

"I am a member of the Flaming Fist. The woman you are harboring is a fugitive, and wanted for murder."

"What'd she do?" Ira casually stepped forward, to inch past Damion while Viconia moved to step behind them.

"I've done nothing wrong!"

"She is a dark elf! That is proof enough of her evil!"

"What?" Damion blinked, before looking back and forth between Viconia and the mercenary. "What would happen if I did step out of the way?"

"I would kill her, of course!"

"No trial? Just an execution?"

"She is a dark elf! I need no other reason-"

"Ira? Can you throat-punch him please?"

"I represent the law in this region-!"

"Gladly."

"You would make yourselves fugitives of the Law!?"

Ira started forward, getting close as he drew his sword and took a swipe at her. A narrow miss, as she slid to the side and an arrow pinged off his armor.

"Aim for where he's -not- armored, Kid."

Another swing, another duck, and the Flaming Fist reeled suddenly as if struck. A glance towards Viconia showed she was holding a glowing maul in her hand, and swinging as if attacking the space in front of her, sending the mercenary reeling once more. He shook his head, before charging over and Ira went into a slide to take his feet out from under him. It worked well enough to stagger him, though she twisted a little too slow to avoid a shallow gash along the back of a shoulder from the sword, and he howled as an arrow snapped into a soft spot between two plates of his armor.

Regaining her feet, Ira contemplated punching him and thought better of it, working to keep him distracted as Montaron circled quietly around. She barely avoided another slash, cursing under her breath at how much faster everything seemed without the oil of speed she had consumed the day before, and took advantage of the way the mercenary had over extended with the blade to reconsider her previous contemplation and jab a fist up. Cringing slightly as she caught the edge of the helm, she retreated swiftly and then put her hands on her hips as the Flaming Fist jerked and then collapsed.

"Took your sweet time, Montaron."

"This weren't any of our business in the first place. Yer lucky I stepped in at all."

"Yes, yes, of course, all hail Montaron the great. Xzar! You can stop hiding now."

"Erm… Miss?"

"Viconia, thank you, for risking your lives on my behalf. I am a dark elf, but I am outcast." Viconia spoke quickly, clutching her mace as Damion slowly raised his hands. "I no longer receive my powers from the spider gods your people fear, but instead from the surface divinity Shar. If you would let me join your group-"

"You… Don't have anywhere else to go, do you."

She studied Damion for a long moment, before shaking her head.

"Alright, it's settled. Does anyone have a cloak for her? Something to help her hide?"

Xzar stepped forward, offering out a threadbare cloak and a soft murmur.

"Use this, yes? It is not much, but it will do."

"Thank's, Xzar."

The necromancer bowed, eyes downcast and voice demure.

"I could do no other."

* * *

"This should do."

Damion watched as Ira hauled on one of the branches of a tree before stepping forward to try and help her break it off. Xzar grimaced and reached forward to help after a moment's hesitation, muttering under his breath.

"Would that I could use the rabbit's teeth!"

"Yeah, think that's a beaver you're on about Xzar. Paddletails."

The branch snapped, and the three stumbled before catching themselves.

"Paddletail in Battle Mail, but oh the rabbits watch on…"

Shaking her head, Ira started to trim the smaller twigs off of her branch and removing the top thin portion, shaking it slightly and nodding at how the resulting staff - a little taller than herself - was unlikely to break easily. Glancing over, she quirked a brow at Viconia, who looked away almost guiltily.

"Something on your mind?"

"You are a surface elf, and yet you hold no disgust when you speak and look at me."

"You're useful. You healed my hands and chest not ten minutes ago."

"This is true, but-"

"Look, I've got a fairly simple principle that I stick with. Don't stab me, and I don't stab you. In fact, you help the Kid, and I'll personally make sure to throat-punch whatever tries to stab you."

"I… That would work, yes. What does he need help with?"

Ira grimaced.

"-Everything-."

* * *

By the time they reached Nashkel, they were (for the most part) footsore and weary. They tucked into the inn, Viconia keeping her head down and the threadbare hooded cloak up, and as Damion stepped up to the bar Ira let her gaze wander. It was a smallish establishment, but as Damion requested a room they heard someone clear their throat.

"It may be a touch unladylike, but I'm gunna slit your throat I am~."

"Wha-?"

"Picture you, stridin' in as bold as day! Saves me the hunt, truly." The female human hefted her club, before narrowing her eyes through the helm. "May the Lord of Sha-"

Ira wasted no time, hauling a barstool overhead and hurling it towards her. Her shield came up, and she cursed as an arrow skipped off the hastily raised barricade. Xzar yelped and skittered around a table, before barking out an incantation and biting down on the final syllable to hold it while Viconia put herself somewhat between their ambusher and Damion.

Another arrow went across the room, this one an outright miss as one of the bar patrons jostled Damion in their haste to try and get out of the bar. A swat with the club had Ira ducking before she grimaced and brought her staff down this time with a swipe at the helmeted head that got the shield up and out of the way of the alternate end as it went down towards their assailants toes. She yelped before she staggered to the side and spat out a prayer, sputtering and losing the spell as Xzar's minor drain slammed into her and broke her concentration.

Damion's third arrow hit, slamming into her leg just above the boot as he balanced on the bar while Viconia swung with the magical hammer once more, sending the helmeted cleric reeling to the side in time for Montaron to stab his shortsword into her thigh. As she shrieked and went down, the halfling drew a dagger across her throat to leave her bleeding out on the ground.

A moment of silence suffused the area, as the remaining patrons peered over upturned tables and the barkeep poked his head over the bar.

"Erm… Sorry, that was… It's not -usually- like this." Damion slipped down from the bar, giving the barkeep a shy smile, even as Ira moved to start going through the corpses pockets. "Can… We still have a room?"

* * *

Montaron sat back in the room he shared with Xzar, eyeing the bounty notice he had lifted from Ira as she had peeled the corpse of its armor and helmet. Six hundred and eighty gold was a lot, for one dead human, and as he picked his nails the halfling contemplated his odds. The dark elf wasn't likely to intervene, but Ira had pulled Viconia and a beet red Damion into the room they were renting. He would wait until they were asleep, and then check out the setup they had going and decide from there if he should act or wait. Even a fraction of the bounty could hire mercenaries to delve into the Mines for him, and the less work he had to do, the better.

* * *

"Alright, Viconia. I'm going to bring you up to speed on something. Damion's got a bounty on him, which I'm sure you're familiar with the concept of. Now, I'm pretty sure the bint who we killed had a bounty notice, but I couldn't find it after I saw it. Means Montaron's probably thinking of ways to remove the Kid's head. Thing is, I need the kid alive. He's got a vendetta against the same arsehole I need to kill, and I'm gunna need all the help I can get to kill him."

"This is why you asked if I would help you with Damion?"

"I'm… I'm right here, you kn-"

"Hold that thought, Damion. So, Viconia, are you in, or are you after the bounty?"

The drow studied Damion for a moment, before looking back to Ira.

"I owe you both a debt, for saving my life. The Halfman assisted, however, and so I owe him as well."

"He didn't help so much as killsteal, the little rat bastard that he is. And to be fair, he -complained- about it. He's just as likely to turn you in, Viconia."

The cleric grimaced, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"If this is true, then what is stopping you from doing the same?"

"I've got nowhere to go either." They both looked over to Damion, who frowning and sitting with his back to the wall. He shook his head, before continuing. "I can't imagine what it's been like for you, but I know that I wouldn't want to be alone. I -don't- want to be alone. But I don't want to die either. Ira's… Ira, but she needs to sleep sometime too."

Ira snorted, shaking her head.

"Well, I mean, not wrong. Viconia?"

The drow thought about it for a moment, and then nodded.

* * *

Montaron ever so carefully cracked open the door. It was a practiced sort of careful, and as he stepped into the room he was certain he didn't make a sound. Viconia was curled up in a corner of the room, head pillowed on her bag, while Ira was sprawled out in the middle of the room. On the bed against the wall, Damion lay curled up around his pillow. Sound sleepers, for people who had earlier that day been ambushed, which was the first warning that made the halfling pause. Eyes narrowed suspiciously, he watched the rise and fall of chests, scowling as they matched what he had studied of them as they slept before.

Still, the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end, and as his instincts screamed at him he begrudgingly stepped back.

"Wise move."

Turning to face the drow, Montaron scowled.

"It ain't none of yer business, what moves I make. Why would ye care, eh? One's an elf and the other's a bounty."

The door closed with an audible click, causing the halfling to turn and look at it incredulously before snapping his gaze back to the bed where Damion was sitting up. Ira pushed herself up from the floor, stretching.

"Alright, half-man. I think we need to have a -talk-."

* * *

Xzar leaned back against the outside of the door after pulling it closed, eyes partially lidded. Quiet snatches of conversation could be heard through the door, before chanted prayer of a spell silenced them all. He blinked and turned as the door was opened, peering down at Ira as she peered back up at him.

"Your trip to the Mines, can it wait a little bit?"

The necromancer bit his bottom lip, clapping his hands behind his back an swinging back and forth with a shake of his head.

"Nasty rabbitses get -angry- if too much time is taken."

Ira nodded, before peering back at the group.

"Plan Bee, then. I'll be back in a second."

Closing the door behind her, she nodded towards the necromancer before heading out. She returned ten minutes later with a bag and, with another nod towards the fidgeting Xzar, opened the door and stepped in.

"Alright, I'm taking the half-man with me." From the bag, Ira produced a set of manacles and clamped them around the bound and gagged halfling's wrists and hauling him up as she glanced around. "Should be back before you guys get to the mines, but if you don't see me by sunrise I'll meet you there."

"Ne, nenene, Punchy Naanny, where ya goin' with the wee man?" Xzar leaned forward, frowning as Montaron jerked and grunted through the cloth gag.

"There's a carnival just east've here. Carnival means hedge wizard, which means problem solved with any luck. Between us all, we've got almost six hundred gold. It's a fourth tier spell, which might be beyond them but I'll take what I can get. You guys stay here, yeah?"

"No. I want to -see- him. I want to -know-." Xzar hissed the words out, hands reaching for Montaron even as the halfling shot him a dirty look. "He -cannot- die. I do not -trust- you, Punchy Nanny."

"Noted. What do you suppose we do with him then, Madman? Got a polymorph hidden up your sleeve?"

"What if you do not _find_ a hedge-wizard with the spell, hmm? What was your plan -then-, hmm~?"

Ira shrugged.

"Largely bury him up to his neck and pay someone to keep an eye on him until we got back."

"Why not save the gold on the spell and just do that?" Ira and Xzar both paused, turning slowly to blink at Damion as the human sat on the edge of the bed. "What? He was going to turn me in for a bounty."

"Any ideas on where then? And who?"

Damion shrugged, before smiling slightly.

"I've got an idea."

* * *

"How'd you know about that guy?"

"We get-got, I should say, people from everywhere with stories of their travels coming to Candlekeep. I just had to hope that he hadn't gotten himself killed yet."

Ira glanced back towards Noober and Montaron, the former crouched down and poking the halfling's face with a stick. He was still gagged, red in the face, and buried up to his chin in the soil after a hard night's work.

"Eesh, if looks could -kill-."

"Whad if he geds oud? Mommy, ah don' wanna die…" Xzar hunched his shoulders, simpering quietly as he begrudgingly trudged along.

"We'll be back before he does. We need to get through the mines quickly anyways, after all, right? How deep could they go?"

Ira shrugged at Damion's question, before peering up at the sky.

"I dunno, but it's just after dawn and nobody's slept. Get what sleep you can, I'll keep an eye on him, and when you all're ready we'll head out."

"(Is this what I have to work with? Pathetic, but it will have to do.)"


	10. Best served tiredly

"(Hmm, not the best specimens, but perhaps a more bestial touch is required.) I would hire you to kill a treacherous enemy. Understand? She Dynaheir, she bad, you kill. Stomp once for yes, twice for no."

Damion stared blankly at the red robed figure as Ira coughed to conceal a laugh.

"Ira am I seeing things?"

"Ehem, eh, no. Not this time. It's hard to hallucinate that particular shade of Thavian red, either way."

"(Are these buffoons too dense to understand, or are they ignoring me? I thought I had used small enough words!) Well? I do not have all day. If you will not work for me, then I must find some other to do this thing."

"Are we to just kill this person without knowing why?"

"Of course. It is a need to know basis and hired muscle does not need to know. (One would think that was obvious. I grow impatient. The answer is simply yes or no. Surely they can conjure up a single word.)"

"We're busy. We have to find out what's going wrong in the mines." Damion frowned, before shaking his head. "You also won't tell us what she did wrong, and you're being… Just the worst."

The red robed figure sneered, before storming to the side of the bridge.

"Then I will find some other simian to do this! Begone!"

Damion and Ira exchanged glances while Xzar mumbled incoherently to himself, before they shrugged and led the Necromancer along.

"You said he was a Thavian, Ira?"

"Yeah. Red Wizard from Thay. They're the only ones arrogant enough to wear that red, and people who aren't one that wear it tend to disappear. They do a lot of slavery, and it's a magocracy."

"I read a little bit about the area. Are… They all like that?"

"Ehh…" Ira peered upwards, before shrugging as they hit the main road. "Haven't met a lot've them, really. Ones I have, though, seem similar to that one. Power mongering, egotistical mages who adhere to a strict set of laws. They're really good at holding grudges."

"Wonder what this person did that made him want to hunt her down…"

"You know as much as I do about that one, Kid-"

"Stand and deliver! That my Hamster may have a better look at you!"

Ira squinted past the hamster that had been abruptly jabbed at her face, sniffing slightly as the hamster sniffed her in turn.

"I agree Boo! They look to be friendly! Greetings, we, are Minsc and Boo! We have..."

Ira moved to step behind Damion, who held up his hands as he was not so discreetly nudged out in front. She gestured in a sweeping motion towards the road, about to urge Xzar to continue on before her ears perked at the drop of a name.

"... Charge Dynaheir has been taken from us. It was gnolls…"  
She looked towards the bridge, pondering the odds of which two people would be looking for the same person within two hundred feet of each other.

"I'm… I'm -really- sorry, I'd like to help but we have to-"

"Damion, we know some people who might be able to help him out, don't we."

"Ahh- Oh. Khalid and Jaheira?"

"And Imoen."

"You will help Minsc?"

"We can't, I'm… I'm sorry. But we know some people who can."

"Great! Where are they?" Minsc peered around, as if they were hiding behind some bushes before peering down at the hamster. "What? Oh."

"North of here. They were staying at the Jovial Juggler. They'll probably be there for a while yet. Look for Khalid and Jaheira, and tell them Damion sent you."

Damion turned slightly to peer quizzically at Ira, only to shrug and nod in agreement as she kept Xzar from wandering off.

"Great thanks! Bards will sing tales of Minsc and Boo's rescue of their witch! … And friends!"

The giant of a man turned and headed north along the road, leaving the three behind with a snarled 'I'll be much more agreeable with rest!' from the necromancer.

"I know, Xzar. Ira, should we do something about the Thavian?"

"Like what, openly murder him in town? No, best to just get the others to move quick and scoop the girl. Unless, of course, you want to run the risk of him finding out we're stalling him and invite him along with us to the mines. Thavians are pretty good when it comes to killing things."

"I… Yeah, even I know I'm not a good enough liar for that."

"I'd say play to your strengths, but jury's still out on if you have any."

"Ira!"

"What? Just saying it like I see it."

Damion shook his head, frowning as he pushed open the door of the inn.

* * *

Damion scrimped by on six hours of sleep, grumbling as Ira roused him and helping him carefully out of the room. Viconia was still curled up in her chosen corner to the immediate right of the door, and one of Xzar's feet were stuck out from under the bed. Bleary eyed, he collected his bow and a quiver of arrows before stumbling after Ira as she stepped softly to the door, opening it and ushering him out. It didn't take long for her to guide him around to the back of the building and pull an apple from a pocket.

"Practice time. We also gotta talk."

He grunted, scrubbing a hand across his eyes before methodically stringing the bow and nocking an arrow.

"Shoot the apple. Who do you want to be?"

Damion paused, watching as she lobbed the piece of fruit up, caught it, and repeated the process.

"I… Don't know"

"It shows. You're a crap liar, you're young, and you're still grieving."

He took aim, releasing the arrow. It whistled through the air, missing the apple and thunking against a tree.

"Good. You don't try to deny any of it. You dunno who you want to be, but just as importantly do you know who you -don't- want to be?"

A second arrow was knocked, aimed, and released. Scoring a line across the top of the fruit, he frowned as the arrow thunked into a tree behind Ira.

"I just woke up, Ira-"

"All the more important than that we do this. If you wake up slow, with people after you, you're as good as dead. Answer the question."

Sucking in a breath, he aimed a third arrow, tracking the fruit as it was tossed up and caught repeatedly.

"Who do I not want to be…? I… I don't want to be the Thavian."

"Good start, but all you know about him is that he's an arsehole. Next."

He contemplated his answer as the fourth arrow missed by a wide margin.

"Focus, Kid."

"I don't want to be Khalid."

"Because he's a good person or because he stutters?"

"Something happened to him, I think-" The fifth arrow clipped the apple, and Ira leaned back to catch the fruit as it altered course. "-it might've traumatized him. I don't want to lose anyone I like, and I want to be strong enough that when something bad happens, that I can make it better."

"Again, you're basing all of this on people you don't know a lot about."

"What about you? What if I said I wanted to be strong like you?"

The apple was arced a little higher into the air than before as Ira laughed.

"You don't know anything about me either! The only person you know everything about, Kid, is yourself. You planning on being a sheep, Kid, being like someone else?"

"What would -you- know?"

There it was, Ira mused, taking a bite of the apple and watching Damion as the frustration he had fought down finally started to surface properly.

"Know more'n you, apparently." She jabbed a finger at him. "I know you try and keep your emotions bottled up. I know you step lightly. I know you recognize words to spells and I know you've looked at Xzar as he studies his book more'n once. I know you're moody, unstable, and like a delayed blast fireball just waiting to explode. You're going to take the people you're trying not to hurt down with you when you blow."

Ira snapped her free hand up, snatching the arrow out of the air as it whistled towards her. Turning it over in her hand, she quirked a brow towards the mortified looking human.

"There it is. You're angry one moment, ashamed the next. Who did you kill that you were close to, Kid? Why are you trying to act like a pressure cooker to stifle all that killing intent?"

"I-... Nobody." Damion slouched, as if trying to make himself smaller as Ira stepped up and took another bite of the apple.

"Sit down, Kid. Speak to me."

He shrunk back an inch, before nodding and slumping to the ground.

"I used to… I had a temper. I hurt a lot of things, a lot of people, and I liked it. And… That -scares- me. That's not how normal people are. That's not how normal children are." Damion laid the bow aside, drawing up his knees and wrapping his arms around them. "Before I met Imoen, I didn't have anyone but my father. I'd driven them all away, scared them all, I don't know… But then Imoen came along, and she didn't abandon me. She taught me what 'normal' was, and I stopped hurting people. After a time, I stopped hurting animals. When that happened, Imoen was allowed to play with me outside, and… That's how it went, until my father told me we were going on a trip. I don't want to hurt people. I don't want to kill people, or animals, or anything. I want to be -normal-."

Ira crouched down, watching the human as she munched on the apple, before setting the core down.

"So, what, you just wanna die then?"

"No!" His head snapped up, looking frustrated and miserable all at once. "I just… I want to be left alone."

"Too bad. You're naive to think that you can stick your head in the sand and have people just pass you by."  
"So what? You barely know anything about me-"

"No, but I know myself." Ira settled back on her haunches, peering about before resting her elbows on her knees. "And I know that not once has wanting to be left alone ever -worked- without me breaking someone's nose first. I'm -old-, Kid. Get yourself a reputation of power, and you'll have two things happen. People will leave you alone, or they won't. If you prove to be a 'good' person? People will come flocking to you trying to find answers to their problems. Prove to be a 'bad' person? You'll get fewer people, but the ones that come to you will try and kill you for glory or revenge."

"Got a lot of experience with that, then?"

"It's good that you're coating your fangs with acid, but nip at me again Kid and I'll bloody your nose."

Damion shrunk back slightly, before blinking as Ira laughed.

"See? That's how it works. You stopped, because you knew I'd do it. You want people to leave you alone? Grow a spine, leash that caustic side you keep trying to bury, and mean what you say come hell or high water."

"I thought you said I needed to learn how to lie."

"Lying's useful, don't get me wrong, but it absolutely -kills- any credibility when you threaten someone. You're shit at lying, so play to your strengths."

"I don't have any strengths."

Ira snorted, before pointing towards the bow.

"Then work on things you're not shit at and -make- them your strengths."


	11. Best served surprisingly

With a final check to make sure Montaron was neither gone nor dying (along with an extra ten minutes before Ira could distract Noober and disappear once the party was safely away) the group made their way further south to the mines. A brief bit of a mix up, where Ira ran back to Naskhel and spoke with the mayor before returning had the party restless and on most counts restless or sour. Viconia because she didn't like being so visible in the sun, Xzar because of their lack of progress and Ira because she had to spend two hours to bolt there, and two hours to bolt back.

"Don't you ever get out of breath?"

Ira blinked at Damion, before snorting.

"It's called endurance. Sometimes I get hit as hard as you would, but usually I'm alright. The oils of speed, though, -that- kicked my ass. The spell, haste? After a few of those I'd probably be winded too."

"Is it a… Is it a monk thing?"

"Sure, could call it that. Put it this way, you're prettier, talk better when you're not shaking in your boots and could probably figure things out faster than I could if you had the experience to know what to look for. You're also probably able to lift only a little less than I could. Thing is, I'm faster, have had people trying to kill me longer, and… Well, my instincts are better. You can probably see better than I can, if I'm gunna be honest, but I could hear you from two hundred feet and smell you farther than that if you're upwind."

"Like a sort of beast monk?"

"Sssort of? Close enough."

"You could have lied and just said yes and I would have probably believed you."

"'Course. But I hate lying. Goes 'gainst my rules."

They made it back to the foreman, showing him the notification from the mayor before starting to head into the mine.

"Hope you're not scared've the dark and low ceilings Kid."

"I'll be fine."

"A visitor! Oh, glorious day!"

Ira turned, looking pointedly at Damion before he slumped slightly and stepped forward.

"Ah-yes, hello. Uhh…"

"We don't get many visitors around here! Are you going deeper into the mines? Kylee left his dagger, could you bring it to him? He dropped it the other day, and I haven't seen him since. He should be down a level."

"We, uhh… I mean we have to go down there anyways, right?"

A glance back at the group noted that nobody was paying attention. Xzar was chewing on his nails as he eyed the walls distrustfully, and Viconia was holding a quiet conversation with Ira as they watched the necromancer.

"... Alright, uhh, so yeah. We'll… Do this." He turned back to the miner, accepting the dagger and waving as he returned back to his work. "Thanks, you know, I -really- appreciate being left-"

The world went dark for a moment as something slid down over his head, and for a moment he fought before the eye slits of the helmet came into view.

"There. That should do. You're worthless if you can't see, and since you're human you're… Well at a severe disadvantage underground."

"I don't see how-"

"It's magic. We put it on Xzar to see what it did since it didn't do anything for me or Viconia, but between the frantic clawing and the garbled babbling we were able to figure it out."

Damion eyed the two, and then looked over to Xzar who was kicking at the dirt.

"When… Did you do this?"

"Breakfast, while you were moping outside before you came in. I was gunna tell you then but you were miserable. Figured it was maybe a bad time to put the helmet someone had recently died while wearing into your hands until you'd mellowed out a bit."

"In my hands, you put it on my head!"

Viconia stepped into his field of view, adjusting the helmet and shaking her head.

"You surfacers are strange. It should not impair your vision too greatly, but you will find you can see the heat that most living things produce. It should allow you to, effectively, see in the dark. To a lesser extent than I can, of course."

"What about Xzar?"

"I mean you both need your hands to do things. Him to cast spells, and you to shoot arrows. Viconia was going to keep close to you two with a torch, but if it went out we wanted you able to not-die immediately. Most of Xzar's spells are touch-based, so he'd be able to defend himself easier than you blind."

"It is a shame we do not have any Topsider's Crutches."

Damion peered at Viconia as Ira lit and handed the Drow a torch, frowning at how she squinted against the glare of the fire.

"Why, what are they?"

Viconia shrugged, adjusting the torch and tilting it away from her face.

"Rings. They grant surface dwellers the same thing that your helmet does."

"Would you recognize them if you saw them?"

"They… Do not all look the same, but if I see a ring that I think may be one, I will speak of it."

"Thank you."

She paused, uncertain of his words and slight smile before shaking her head and nodding to Ira.

"Lead on."

"That's the thing. Are we going down? Are we looking around this level? We don't know where down is, but-"

"That way is down." Viconia nodded to the south, lips pressed in a thin line as she studied the walls. Ira blinked at her, before grinning.

"Well, that's handy. S'pose you can tell what way's up, too?"

"More or less. If I take time, I can tell these things. My people dwell beneath the ground, after all."

Damion nodded, before drawing an arrow and loosely knocking it, nodding to Xzar.

"Come on. You walk with me. Ira in the front, Viconia in the back."

"If I must!"

* * *

"Help! They're coming!"

Damion boggled for a moment, hesitantly raising the bow as Ira stepped past the panicking miner that had thrown himself at their group and sniffed the air.

"It's too late! They're here!"

He had thought the bandit ambush had been bad, but when six vaguely dog-headed creatures popped out of nowhere he startled. Through the helmet, they looked… Strange. Like the cross-section of a gradient onion, and it was mildly off putting. By the time he had raised the bow, Ira had punched two and was snarling at a third while they circled her. She had planted herself over the miner who had curled himself into the fetal position. As Viconia came up behind him, the infravision faded and he could see them for the reptilian creatures they were. Picking his targets carefully (made easier by how they were clustered around Ira for the moment), he caught one in the back and it yelped.

A smile turned the corners of his lips upwards before he frowned, the kobold turning to charge him. A partial step to backpedal had him reloading, and he raised the bow to fire a second arrow until Xzar's green-clad form slipped between the two. A crackle of rapidly freezing tissue breaking came but a moment before the necromancer giggled, and Viconia settled herself squarely beside the archer to keep out of the way, but still be able to intercept incoming foes if necessary.

A flurry of blows gathered the attention of the remaining kobolds, three of the remaining five getting popped once apiece and softening them for the combination of mace, magic and ranged as Viconia and Xzar moved closer.

"Oops."

"Ira?"

The elf carefully turned over the miner, knocked unconscious and partially trampled.

"Oh. He's still alive."

"We should get him to safety."

"Back the way we came then?"

"Should be a check-in point close, normally they have them near the start of each level of a mine. Helps keep track of who's coming and going, and would probably be closer."

"Are you hurt?"

Ira peered over to the Drow, before shaking her head.

"Eh, nah, I'm alright. Save your magic for if we need it. 'S just a scratch. Come on, I smell people this way."

* * *

"Xzar?"

The Necromancer turned slightly from where he had been contemplating the floor, chewing on the nail of a thumb.

"... Where… Did you get that?"

Blinking, he hastily tossed the offending digit away.

"Get what?"

Damion gave him a funny look, but shook his head as if deciding against thinking too hard about it.

"I just… Thank's. You stepped between me and a kobold. You could have gotten hurt. I didn't expect you to do that, but you did."

The Zhent tilted his head, blinking rapidly.

"Did I?" The blinking slowed, before Xzar's eyes partially closed, voice dropping to a low purr. "The arrow-man -promised- to learn the mine, yesss… Death will not break this vow. But would be -very- appreciative of being able to walk out on his own, yes? No strings on him, to be pulled this way or that~..."

Damion studied Xzar for a long moment, long enough that the necromancer shifted uncomfortably and shrank back before he nodded.

"Yeah. Thank's. We're heading back out into the mine, we've got a map now."

Hesitating, Xzar glanced around hunching somewhat.

"Xzar…? What's wrong?"

"You're going to -leave- me here. I know it!" The words came out as a volatile hiss as he snapped his gaze towards the archer, fingers lifting to his mouth as he started to gnaw on his own knuckles.

"That's not true, and you know it-"

"Liar… Liar! LIAR!"

"Xzar! Stop it!"

The Necromancer paused for a moment, as if to consider it, before giggling and grabbing part of his robes, lifting it enough to start swishing the hem and dancing in circles.

"You know I'm terrible at lying-"

"Maama~! I wanna to -pway-! Can I pway and spwash and-"

Damion glanced back at Ira as the elf handed a dagger over to one of the miners in the area, smiling uncomfortably, and then glanced to where Viconia was standing by the entrance to the cavern they were currently in. Shaking his head, he peered back towards Xzar and leaned in, murmuring under his breath before moving to join Viconia.

The Necromancer went stock still, staring at nothing for a long moment before peering curiously towards the archer, a grin growing across his tattooed features before he hummed and danced along after them.

* * *

Jaheria sat down on the steps of High Hedge, sighed heavily and rested her forehead against her hands. Elbows braced against her knees, she almost didn't notice Imoen until the pink-clad girl was almost right beside her.

"Can I sit with you?"

"Of course, child. What is it?"

"Do you think magic's dangerous? Really dangerous?"

The half-elf paused, lifting her head to study the human.

"It can be, if you are not careful. Melicamp is no exception, and you should never forget his fate. The apprentice thought he was ready, when in fact he was not. It is fortunate that he survived the transformation back, however his Master would have been well within his rights to leave the poor lad as a chicken."

Imoen nodded slowly, twiddling her thumbs.

"... Damion and I... We both learned a little bit about magic. Not a lot! Just a little. Enough to use scrolls and wands. But... I've always kinda wanted to learn it. Should I get a teacher?"

"If you believe that you are intelligent enough to use it, and wise enough to know when to... I would consider a cautious delve into the arcane to be an adventure to undertake if we had a mage in our party. Perhaps dwell on it longer?" Jaheira quirked a brow, having picked her words as carefully as she could. "Druidic magic is not like the arcane. It is a prayer to nature, not a bending of a force to the breaking point."

The thief nodded, before moving to stand and stretch.

"'Kay! Thanks, you're..." Her expression softened, and she clasped her hands behind her back even as she stepped away. "You're really helpful to talk to."

With that, she was gone, leaving Jaheira to shake her head and rub her temples.


	12. Best served at range

"What'd you say to Xzar to make him behave?"

Ira peered between the necromancer who was crouched on the floor, turning kobold corpses this way and that and the archer as Damion shifted uncomfortably.

"I told him he could have one body to take out of here if he was good."

She quirked a brow, leaning back slightly and tilting her head.

"You… Do realize that means-"

"Yes. I do. I'm well aware."

The elf studied Damion for a long moment, noting the determined (if queasy) look on his face before a toothy grin drew her lips back.

"Well now, there's hope for you yet. Maybe. You sure, though, that this is the path you wanna walk? You start this, there's no turning back."

"You were right. I can't keep being weak and always rely on other people. But I also can't fight on my own yet. I need you guys, and I need you to be able to do what I can't. I'm… I haven't touched magic in a long time, but Xzar does every day. I can't heal, but Viconia can. I can't fight, but you-"

"You'll be able to fight too. You just gotta practice. Trust me, I'm useless against anyone wearing proper armor and a helmet. Remember the flaming fist? I couldn't do anything against him, without breaking my own fingers."

"What if we got you metal gloves?"

The elf blinked, tilting her head.

"Say, that's not a bad idea. A katar even'd be fine, or a cestus. Though, fighting claws would work the best."

"What… Are those, actually? You mentioned them before."

"While covering my ass? Yeah. Fighting claws are like a… Sort of like-... Hmm. Hard to describe. Three pieces of metal that stick out and curve down, like claws. They're braced along the wrist and forearm. Trade-off between bracing it further down is more stability, but less maneuverability since the elbow becomes the main pivot-joint. Never used 'em, but I've seen them before. A Katar is sort of different, but sort of the same. There's spring-loaded ones that let the blade retreat to rest over the backs of the forearms where they could be used to block things, but usually they're a fixed blade."

"Where would we get those?"

Ira snorted, folding her arms and shaking her head.

"Calimshan, maybe? Nowhere near here. We're pretty far north from anywhere that would have them."

"So… We'd have to have them made."

"They come in pairs, too. Usually the same thing on each arm."

Xzar stood up, muttering under his breath before padding over to the archer.

"Poor quality, malnourished, underfed lizard-rats…"

Damion gave the necromancer a somewhat sheepish smile before turning towards the drow.

"Alright, let's go. Viconia, where does the map say to go next?"

"The passage we seek is a left and an immediate right away from us. Then, we descend into the abandoned bottom level."

"Thank's. Ira?"

"Yeah yeah, I'm comin'."

* * *

Pocketing the greenstone ring, Damion frowned and looked around. There hadn't been anything left on the body beyond it, and as he peered around he counted the helmet as both a blessing and a curse. Depending on how far back the torch was behind him, the vision would either kick in and flicker back and forth, giving him a greater range that abruptly shifted normal and back, or everything was a wash of heat. Still, it came in handy every now and then.

The party continued through the tunnels, until Ira abruptly stopped and sniffed the air, peering around shrewdly. The archer raised his bow as Viconia stepped closer, looking around for signs of an ambush.

"What's wrong?"

"C'mere, Kid. Give me a second opinion."

She moved to crouch by the floor, shifting her fingers gently through the loose layer of dirt until her nails snagged on a slightly raised lip. As Damion settled near her, the elf nodded to the floor ahead of them.

"What's wrong with this picture?"

He scanned the corridor ahead of them, before reaching up and working the helmet off, sucking in a breath and wiping hair from his eyes to take a second look.

"Looks like… Dirt."

"Right. It's thicker here by a little bit than everywhere else."

Carefully, gently, Ira brushed some of the dirt from the pressure plate to reveal its edge.

"This? This is why. I think we've gone a little off track. Mostly, the path we've been following has been somewhat worn by feet and shoes. Here? Soft dirt, few footprints."

"How could you see that?"

"Dirt's got a different gradient look to it than walls, it holds heat different than rock But what's a trap tell you about this place?"

Damion was silent for a moment, before slipping the helmet back on.

"... That we're in something's home. And that they don't want intruders."

Ira nodded, before standing up and brushing her hands off.

"I'm no good when it comes to disarming this stuff, but I'm usually a fair hand at finding them. Let's go back and see if there's another way deeper."

* * *

Ira knew she had made a mistake the moment the floor clicked quietly under her.

She had been making her way across a stone bridge that spanned a chasm lit from below by a river of lava, and noted the kobolds across the way. What she had failed to note, was how they all held bows.

Snapping a hand up, she caught the offending arrow and grunted as she realized, belatedly, that the projectile was on fire and that her hand now, too, was also on fire. She kept her stride, however, gaining speed as she continued forward with a shout of 'Traps!'. The second burning arrow thunked into her shoulder, followed by a third that was caught by the staff and a fourth that was barely dodged and singed her hair. Mixed amidst those were a pair of shots by the kobolds on the end of the bridge and a grunt from Viconia behind her as an arrow skipped over her shield.

By then it didn't matter how many arrows the kobolds could put in the air in six seconds, because Ira was there and at point blank range they were at a severe disadvantage. It didn't take long for the rest of the group to cross the bridge, looking at the corpses and at the elf who was crouched and looting the bodies for everything of value they carried.

"Ira?"

"You could use these arrows, Kid."

"Ira you have-"

"Yeah I might need Viconia for a moment."

"Your hand-"

"Nothing to it, Kid."

Damion went quiet as he studied Ira. One of her hands was charred and black, fingers curled into a loose fist while the other worked one of the arrows out of her shoulder, seeming to ignore the scorched patch of flesh and cloth around it. She was pale under the dirt and grime, and he had the sneaking suspicion that she was in a lot more pain than she was letting on.

"We should-"

"Kid, if you're about to suggest that we go back out and -rest-, then stuff it."

"But-" He held his hands up, as if they could deflect the narrow-eyed stare she sent his way. "-But - and hear me out here - you're fairly wounded. Isn't it strategic to regroup?"

Her expression softened slightly into a thoughtful one, before she shook her head.

"Usually? Yeah, but that's when there's a finite number of foes. We leave these caves, they're just going to fill back up with these lizard-dogs unless we keep going. Camping here's not really an option either, considering that if we stop moving that just means we'll keep being interrupted by kobolds, which'll get us killed."

"But your hand-"

"I can move it. I'm not missing any fingers. Give me a few minutes and I'll be better."

"Ira you're not invincible!"

She quirked an eyebrow at the archer as he threw his hands into the air in exasperation. Behind him, Xzar mimicked the gesture, caught off guard by the sudden movement.

"You are the closest thing we have to a competent melee fighter. If you go down, I hate to say it but we're -screwed-. No offense, Viconia."

The drow gave a noncommittal grunt, keeping an eye on the surrounding tunnels.

"Xzar's time is almost up. You'll lose him as a valuable ally if we back out. He's got maybe six hours before he's got to send his report-"

"How…?" The Necromancer faltered, leaning around Damion to peer at the elf. "Punchy Nanny keeps good time, yesss…"

"-And that's the only torch we've got. Which is going to burn out in about two hours. We go back, we lose both your mage and coin that could better be spent on other things. 'Sides, the time we've spent talking about this, my hand's already better."

Ira held up the burned digit, peeling away some of the burned flesh to reveal the pink regrowth beneath it around the edges of a charred portion.

"... Wh… How…?"

"Alright, lemme level with you."

Damion peered at Ira as she blinked at him, only for her to shrug and hold up her good hand.

"Changed my mind. All that's important is until I'm done, my body's going to heal a bit faster than yours."

He folded his arms, staring at her and narrowing his eyes as she snorted and turned away.

"Nope. Not answering that question. Consider my greater constitution to be the trade-off for how I'm not that flexible. For an elf."

"You always tell me to talk to you. Why-"

"Because. If you're that worried, Viconia can use one of her healing spells on me. But only one, if we need them in a pinch they're a damn sight better than having nothing. You're the Leader, but some things you just don't need t'know."

"Will you tell me before we fight the armored knight?"

Ira eyed Damion cautiously for a moment, before shrugging.

"No promises there. I'm crap at keeping secrets though, since it's not really in my nature, so maybe."

"... Fine." The archers tone pointedly proved how it was not, in fact, fine. "Viconia? Can you heal her please?"

"Nightsinger, give me power…"

* * *

Ira stretched slightly, peering around and limbering up.

"Alright, everyone knows their job?"

"We are believing the madman?"

"Considering his profession, if he says one's nearby then I'll take his word for it."

Viconia scoffed, but simply shook her head as Damion turned to her.

"Viconia, are you sure you can do this?"

"We will not know until I try."

Damion nodded, moving forward slightly and testing the string of his bow as Ira finished stretching, studying each of their group before settling her hands on her hips.

"Everyone knows the backup plan, right?"

"Don't engage unless you trip?"

"Attaboy, Kid. Xzar?"

"To the, ehm… Right? Yes. No. Yes. No?" The necromancer lifted a finger to his mouth, worrying at the knuckle with his teeth as he fought to focus. "... Yes. Definitely. Ish."

"I'll take it. Kid?"

"Shoot anything smaller than you?"

"-Please- try to kill it in one or two shots. You need to focus on this. I'm not very good at getting out of the way of small fast things like that."

"And you're sure you'll-?"

"Elves're immune to their claws, if I remember right. Not my area of expertise, but we'll see. With luck, I'll be quick enough that it won't get in range."

Damion nodded, before nocking an arrow and peering around nervously through the slit in the helmet.

"Alright. Starting my run now."

To say that Ira was graceful, was the greatest of overstatements. To say that she moved quietly, however, was far more accurate, and as Damion shadowed her a few dozen paces behind he almost wondered at how she managed to do so. While she lacked the silence of step he had learned from Imoen, she was certainly quieter than Xzar, possibly even Viconia if the drow took off her armor.

A quiet growl-chirp had him refocusing, and the infravision granted by his helmet picked up how the elf gestured further down the tunnel. A single wave indicated a lone kobold, and as he eased closer and brought up the bow it came into his sight. It seemed to be one on patrol, and as it pattered along quietly he took a shot and nailed it in the side. A startled half yip was cut off by the second arrow, and as Ira shooed him back there distant answering yips.

They continued their hit and run tactics for a few more tunnels, noting which ones were inhabited (namely by giant spiders), which connected and which ones dead ended. Once Ira halted and held up a fist, Damion's blood ran cold and he turned about, starting to head back to the bridge.

They had found what they were looking for, and as a hoarse bellow gibbered out from behind him he knew the chase was on and that he wouldn't make it back in time. Instead, he ducked down one of the dead ends and hunkered down, trying to stay as still and quiet as possible while Ira thundered past with the lurching, shambling form loping after her.

When they got into range, Viconia was ready. She took her stance, held out her holy symbol and prayed as Ira whumped into a wall and used it to redirect herself around the ghoul. It threw up its hands, howling, before starting towards the cleric.

"It is beyond my power to control! Xzar!"

The Necromancer leaned out of his cubby, hissing.

"Ghoul! Dass a ghoul!"

"Good t'know!" Ira zipped between Viconia and the undead, tagging it across the jaw with a backhand on the way by. "Come on, flabby! Elf meat, getcha elf meat here!"

Viconia backpedaled onto the bridge as claws raked out and caught along Ira's arm, wincing as the elf pivoted and threw the rock she had been holding in her off hand and missed by a wide margin. It worked well enough to draw the ghouls attention, however, and she started to pick up speed the ghoul lumbered after her. She made it a short way down the tunnel before a familiar shaped heat signature came running towards her from the direction she was headed in, up from the larger chamber with supporting pillars of stone and pools of water.

"Kid?"

The running form took a hard left across her path as they nearly collided, something large and chittering right behind him, and Ira grinned as she dropped into a slide to clear the spindly legs rather suddenly in front of her. Ghoul met spiders and Damion circled back and forth around the center pillar, firing at whoever seemed to be winning to try and keep both sides even. It was the spiders, for the most part, who ended up peppered with arrows, and every time one of them peeled off towards him the elf barreled into it and shifted around the ghoul.

By the time Viconia and Xzar had circled through the side tunnels, it was down to one spider and a rather worn down ghoul clawing and biting at each other. A few well-placed hits from both cleric and archer had them down in good time, however, and as the fight ended Ira grinned at the others.

"Not so bad. Only way that's left is… Well, left of the spider cave."

"Is that the one you want then, Xzar?"

The necromancer paused peering up from where he had been inspecting the ghoul.

"Nnnh. No. Damaged."

"You'll find one, Xzar."

* * *

"Ye help me out've this hole, Red Wizard, an' I'll shank whoever ye wish me ta once I send word ta those above me. I'll even find ye a mercenary who's good with an axe, too."

"(Another dirty little monkey. Bah! At least this one seems willing to be useful!) Very well. We have a deal."


	13. Best served raw

"Any idea how do disarm them?"

"I could try. Imoen was always better at this than I was."

"Tell you what. I got an idea."

Damion glanced back as Ira disappeared around the bend, eyes widening as she hauled back a spider corpse.

"Gimme a hand with this, yeah?"

"What are we doing?" Damion hurried over, grabbing a pair of legs and helping her drag it over.

"Well. If you can't disarm it, I'm rolling it onto the trap."

"Oh. Al… Alright. Let me try, first."

"You got it, Kid."

Xzar giggled, sitting down and clapping his hands together.

"Corpses~!"

* * *

"Alright, so here's what we have to deal with, looks like. There's half a dozen kobold archers on the other side of a lake, and three on this side. There's a narrow stone walkway around what looks like a stone dome in the center of the lake, connected to our side with, surprise surprise another narrow walkway. Now, the archers have the black vests, so they're probably the ones with fire arrows."

"Punchy Nanny! Punchy Nanny! Rrreservations forrr two~?"

"Eh?"

"Round yon corner, yeet?"

"Thought I smelled something familiar. You got anything ranged that can take them out in one shot, Wizard?"

"Mmmmmnu."

Ira grimaced, before turning towards the drow.

"Viconia, you need to save your magic for healing. Could you use your shield to keep the Kid from eating arrows?"

"Yes, darthiir."

Ira rolled her eyes.

"Alright, Kid, it's your job to pick them off as quick as you can without getting shot. I'll tie up the three with swords. Place looks pretty heavily guarded, but no traps from what I could tell. Well lit, too. Xzar, how much noise would it take to draw the two diners out? We don't want them to crash our party."

"Proximity?"

"I mean, I couldn't see them from where I snuck out."

Xzar gnawed on his thumb for a moment, before shrugging and grunting.

"If it comes to it," Viconia traced a hand along her holy symbol, "I would like to try my hand at turning them. If I cannot control them, perhaps I can make them flee?"

"We'll call baiting them and you turning them to keep us safe the current 'plan bee' then."

* * *

"Ow."

Ira grimaced as Viconia spent another one of their precious healing spells digging a shortsword out of her thigh.

"The -good- news, is that the two diners didn't decide to join the party."

"They will sssmell the kobolds, they will be hunnngry~..."

"Maybe pile the kobold corpses up then along the walkway so they have to eat through them to get to us? I dunno."

Xzar clapped his hands with glee, before moving to go and start dragging the dead kobolds along.

"I have bad news."

"Kid, you're back. What'd you find?"

Damion shifted slightly, grimacing and trying not to look at how Ira was slowly oozing blood.

"Well… No traps that I could find, but inside that dome is three caves that all join right by the door. There's some human corpses in the one to the left, but straight ahead is… Well, an elf. Chained to a rock."

"Huh. And the third one?"

"Gaudy tapestries and rugs, as well as a big chair with a chest in front of it. There's also a really big guy there. Maybe a half-orc? I didn't want to get any closer to see if I could tell."

"Describe him?"

The archer glanced towards her before looking back towards the entrance to the stone dome they sat against, the ceiling, anywhere but where Viconia was digging a pair of arrows out of the brawler's stomach and murmuring a prayer of healing.

"Big shield, chain armor and a morningstar."

"Either a fighter or a war priest of some kind then. Okay, best case scenario it's a fighter and we punch him to death. Worst case scenario he's a war priest and can heal himself. Right?"

"Either way, Ira, what do you think about maybe seeing if we can't res-recruit the elf? They're in a bad way."

"Describe them?"

"Uhh… Long hair, looked greasy. Sort of purplish clothes, but they're all torn and tattered." He continued to shift from foot to foot, doing what he could to ignore the wet ripping sound as Ira peeled some of the charred flesh off of her hand.

"... Thin? Saggy skin like they lost a lot of weight rapidly?"

"I couldn't tell."

"Right. Probably not, then. Can you pick the lock?"

"I can try. Imoen was always-"

"Imoen's not here. It's you or nobody."

Damion grimaced, before nodding.

"... Alright. I'll try."

"Before you go, one thing." Ira pushed herself to her feet, nodding in thanks towards the drow as she brushed her hands off, minding the raw flesh. "So, if this elf doesn't look like they can fight then we need to plan for that. I don't do hostages very well, so we need to either arm them and hope they can fend for themselves or consider them useless baggage until we figure out what they can do."

"I can't just leave them there, Ira."

She peered at Damion for a long moment, quirking a brow as a look of amusement crossed her face.

"You're… Really soft, you know that?"

"I just… I know what it's like-"

"To have nobody there for you, yeah, you've mentioned." She waved him off, saking her head. "But unless this half-orc means to go and kill them out of spite they might be better off where they are until we deck the guy."

"I… You're right. But I can't."

"Don't be so down on yourself, Kid. You're doing better than you were before."

He nodded slightly, before looking back at the cave.

"So what's the plan, Kid?"

"... Alright. Here's what we're going to do."

* * *

Ira leaned casually against the wall, keeping an eye on the half-orc and taking in what she could information wise. Viconia and Xzar were in the cavern that branched left from the entrance, the necromancer clutching the few scrolls they had found in their travels and eyed the bile of miner corpses curiously while the cleric muttered prayers under her breath. Damion had just approached the shackled elf before crouching down and starting to look at the lock, clapping a hand over their mouth when violet eyes opened and… Didn't panic, instead seeming to almost look through the archer.

He flinched, turning away from the empty-seeming eyes and removing his hand as he whispered.

"Shh, it's going to be okay. We're getting you out of here."

A solid five minutes later, and he was helping the elf to their feet.

"Thank you for my freedom, friend, for I have dwelled too long within these dismal vaults."

Damion jerked, surprised and reaching to steady the elf as they - He, it seemed - staggered with the sudden lack of support.

"Uhh… Don't mention it? Just… Be quiet. We need to sneak past here."

The elf nodded, and as they carefully picked their way through the cave Ira held up a hand to stall their approach. A few moments later, and she beckoned them forward and they eased carefully past the well lit cave and into the one that Viconia and Xzar were waiting.

"Alright, I dunno how long we have until he leaves that cave. You don't wanna know what he's been doing. Viconia?"

They helped the elf over to lean him against the wall as Viconia approached cautiously.

"I mean you no harm, surfacer."

"There is nothing you could do to me that could surmount the trials I have already faced. As you are… Rescuing me, I will withhold any judgement on the very good chance that we do not make it."

"What can you tell us about the half-orc?"

Ira slipped over from where she had been keeping an eye out, only to blink as Damion turned to scowl at her.

"Ira, give him a moment. What's your name?"

As Viconia chanted softly in the background, the male elf closed his eyes and suppressed a look of pain.

"... Xan. I am… Was, a Greycloak. I was tasked with my kin to investigate the iron crisis. We… Failed. I failed. I fear that I am all that is left of our group."

"Right. What can you do?"

Xan closed his eyes, curling slightly as Viconia's healing magic pushed aside the worst of the pain.

"I am an enchanter. But without my moonblade, it is… Difficult, to cast."

"Xzar?"

The necromancer stepped closer, peering at Xan and offering out two of the scrolls almost shyly.

"Da-mi-on~, can dis be da cowpse dat ah take home?"

"He's, ah… Not dead yet, Xzar."

Xan cautiously accepted the scrolls as Xzar pouted, crossed his arms and stomped his foot.

"Viconia, how's he looking?"

"Underfed, but as far as I am able to tell, mostly whole."

"What is he missing?"

"Woah, Kid, aside from his dignity I'm not sure that's any've your business."

The archer turned back to Ira, opening his mouth to retort before a meek voice eeked out from behind him.

"His name is Mulahey." Xan reopened his eyes, looking somewhat sick as he turned towards Ira. "His name is Mulahey and he is a cleric of Cyric."

"Oh. Well shit."

"... Xzar? What are you doi-Oh no, Ira!"

"Filthy RABBIT!"

"Tactical lesson number one! The first casualty's always the plan!"

Ira turned and thundered towards the cave that Xzar had flatout bolted towards, cringing slightly at the enraged howl that burst from the necromancer. As he stepped over the threshold, passing under the arch an off-yellow glow suffused him and he froze on the spot, strained sounds of wrath eeking out from between his clenched teeth.

"My, how did YOU get in here?"

"Boy! Ignore these!"

Damion risked a glance towards where Viconia was raising her holy symbol towards the moving pile of bodies, raising the bow and partially turning while shouting over his shoulder.

"Ira! Keep Xzar alive! We'll be there soon!"

And then the floor was crawling with kobolds.

* * *

Damion brought the bow to bear as the corpses shed their flesh and stood, turning towards the group before Viconia once more raised her holy symbol and barked out a command towards them. As one, they turned and marched after where Ira seemed to have been buried by kobolds and started hacking at the smaller combatants, rusted picks slamming into scaled flesh and drawing yips of alarm and agony.

He thought perhaps Ira would make it, save for how she rather suddenly stopped and stared blankly, blinking while the half-orc sauntered up and brought the morning star across to catch her in the ribs and draw out a confused grunt.

"Viconia!"

"I must focus or we will lose our new forces!"

"Cupio, Virtus, Licet…"

Three of the kobolds dropped where they stood as the words echoed through the air, one snoring while the skeletons focused on the remaining two who were awake, and he sent a pair of arrows whistling through the ribs of the skeletons. He shifted targets to the half-orc, and was surprised when, after hitting Ira once more, something about the female elf seemed to snap.

A bellowing snarl burst from her maw as she turned towards Mulahey, arms spreading while she charged forward to take two heavy swipes. One connected, and Damion could see blood from where she had torn her hand on the chainmail while the other had caught the shield and torn it away, throwing it aside. Hesitating, he lowered the bow slightly only to bring it back up hastily as the cleric of Cyric caught her across the face with his morningstar and sent her sprawling.

He fired two shots towards the cleric, distracting him from where Mulahey had loomed over her as if to crush her skull and end her and backpedaling as he charged out.

He hadn't expected the half-orc to, while trying to wade through the two remaining skeletons and the one remaining kobold, to jerk suddenly and freeze in his tracks. An arrow thunked into the suddenly immobile target and as Damion knocked the next one he realized that blood was seeping from the clerics mouth.

The final kobold went down, and Xzar stepped around the half-orc with a bloodied dagger in hand, grinning even as he panted for breath.

"D-da-mi-on~... Can ah have dis won?"

* * *

Viconia frowned down at Ira, nudging the unconscious Ira with a boot before shaking her head and crouching to start bandaging her. They had regrouped, moved the corpses into the chamber Xan had been held in and started to lick their wounds while Damion investigated Mulahey's chamber. Xzar, from what she could tell, was in the chamber with the corpses while Xan hovered anxiously near Damion, eyes darting around with a glimmer of suppressed hope.

Taking a moment to peer at the scars along Ira's shoulder and neck, she paused and frowned, studying the body while snatches of conversation drifted to her from the other chamber.

"You found it! I had thought-... Oh, but I would not survived if he had…"

"Eh?"

Ira roused slightly, eyes flickering open to peer groggily towards the Drow.

"Why'sh your hand'n muh pands?"

"You have a concussion."

The brawler blinked blankly for a long moment, before starting to push herself up while Viconia shifted back.

"... One've theesh things're na like th'odder."

"Which are you, then?"

Ira squinted, before bringing her good hand to her head and feeling along her jaw and the swelling across the side of her face.

"Doesh it madder?"

The drow reflected on her words for a moment, before tilting her head.

"In my culture, females hold the power, and males do not."

"An'?"

Viconia blinked, leaning back slightly.

"... No, surfacer. I suppose it does not matter here. It is only a shame that you are less than proportional."

Grey eyes squinted at red ones, before Ira grunted and gingerly felt at her teeth.


	14. Best served charmingly

_Content warning: Blatant Cannibalism._

* * *

"Yanno, Xzar, it'll keep better if you cook it. Sure it won't -taste- the same, but…"

Ira grinned at the necromancer's scowl from where he was crouched over the corpse, bloodied knife in hand. The scowl faded into a radiant look of happiness as the archer stepped into the chamber.

"Are we all up and ready to go?"

"'Eya Kid."

"Ira!"

The female elf winced, one eye twitching slightly before grimacing as Damion hugged her.

"Ow…"

"You're alive!"

"Ribs."

"Oh, sorry…"

The archer withdrew sheepishly, before looking over towards Xzar and turning a little green.

"Not sure if I should be more worried about you sending the elf to go stick with Viconia or proud you thought about the consequences of him seeing this."

"I... Xzar...?"

"Mommy~! You said ah could have one!"

"Y-yeah…"

Damion glanced up, and then back to the necromancer as Xzar sat down onto the ground next to Mulahey's corpse, gore matting his chin before clearing his throat.

"And… I meant it. But we need to lay some ground rules for this, because… Well it's… Kind of-"

"Morally reprehensible from your point of view? From the view of most people on the sword coast?"

"Not... Helping, Ira. Xzar I can't just… Let you go around eating people."

The necromancer's expression darkened, and he started to draw himself up until Damion raised his hands hastily.

"That's not to say that I'm going to get you lynched for it. In fact, we can… Sort of work together with this. But I need to ask you a few questions before I can think of something that will work for both of us."

For a long moment, the necromancer remained where he was before he slowly sank back down and folded his arms, still scowling while starting to drum his fingers in a rapid beat against his arm. Damion waited a moment, before moving to sit down and gesturing to the corpse.

"How often do you… Do this?"

The drumming stopped, and Xzar tilted his head to the side before muttering and sounding almost as if asking himself the same question.

"... Lots? Little?"

"Alright, I can work with that… Sort of. So, you know people are trying to kill me."

Green eyes blinked, and Damion tapped his fingers together.

"I want them to stop. I know they won't, but maybe this will make them. I want your help. Will you help me with this, and in return I'll help you with the rabbits?"

Xzar's lips twitched, before pulling into a wide grin as his voice dropped into a hushed whisper.

"Yesss~..."

"Now, the problem is that I don't think others will like what you do with them. Ira?"

"What, you're asking if I'm gunna stop him?"

"Yes."

She snorted, folding her arms.

"Nah. I half envy him and half pity him. Half-orc's always been too gamy for my tastes."

"But… You're an elf…?"

"Ehhh... Less you know about that the better."

Damion shook his head as Xzar giggled, curling his hands up near his face as if to shyly peek around them.

* * *

"You should try some."

Ira sat down next to Damion, who had retreated outside of the chambers to sit by the water after the chat with Xzar that had left the Necromancer in high spirits.

"Mmmno, thank's. I'm… Not really…"

"Heh, lookit you scramble! You were making progress, too. Two steps forward, one step back I guess."

"You're enjoying this too much."

Ira shrugged, winced, and held up her hands.

"You're walking a path that I like seeing people go down, and the struggle is entertaining on a number of levels. Question is whether you inundate yourself with this stain or if you try and keep some part of yourself clean."

"Some part? Why not all of me?"

"Kid, if nothing else your hands'll be as black as mine by the end of it."

Damion frowned, before nodding slightly.

"Can you help me?"

"Help you… What? Help you try and keep some part of yourself from being-" Ira raised her hands, air quoting, "-Evil?"

"... Yeah. Just because I'm going to do bad things…"

"Look, who's your god?"

The archer frowned, looking down at his reflection in the water.

"Oghma…"

"You don't seem a hundred percent sure of that. I've never seen you pray to him."

"Fine. I don't really have one."

"Good. Means you can explore and find one that suits you and you can decide then if something's morally repugnant to you."

"... Who is yours?"

Ira peered at the archer for a long moment, before scanning the cave they sat in.

"You don't wanna know."

"I do, actually."

"Don't have a god."

"Ira…"

"Alright." She shrugged, and tucked her hands onto her lap. "Mephistopheles."

"I-What? That's…"

"An archdevil, not a god? Yep."

Damion frowned, looking back towards the water.

"That… Explains quite a bit, actually. Why him?"

"Simple question with a complicated answer. I don't think you're ready for any of these answers yet."

"Will you answer them some day?"

"Yeesh, you asked me this before we got down here and you're asking me again. Let it rest, yeah?"

Damion smiled slightly, nodding absentmindedly.

"Speaking of, we've rested long enough. We need to go back topside and head back to Nashkel as soon as we can. Is everyone ready?"

Viconia frowned, before shrugging and standing while Xan clutched his blade to himself and nodded.

"These caves are as home to me, but home welcomes me no more."

"It has been too long since I have seen the sun."

"Rrready~!"

Xzar slipped into the cavern, hands clasped behind him while he beamed at the archer. Damion gave him a once over, before nodding.

"Then let's go."

"While we walk, O Glorious Leader, the scrolls within the chest?" The necromancer bounced along, falling into step beside Damion as they headed out of the cave, voice dropping to a sibilant murmur. "Some would benefit the Enchanter, yes? Otherwise, you have seen the notice of Tranzig? Does Tazok sound familiar?"

"Yes, yes, and no. We should do something about the black talon mercenaries too."

"Why?"

Damion paused, before peering over to Ira as she fell into step beside Xzar.

"Because we'll get paid to, and because if we get good notoriety maybe we'll get some allies."

"I want you to think about the arse end of that statement, and then really consider the people you're traveling with."

He shrugged, before shaking his head.

"If nothing else it might balance out all the other stuff we're going to do, and maybe the Law won't come after us. I'm not saying we should become heros, but a few fewer enemies wouldn't hurt."

"Alright. We'll do it your way, and when it backfires I'll get to say I told you so."

"Right. Meantime, keep an eye out. I'm going to talk to Xan for a bit."

Ira gave a sloppy salute, before watching as the archer stepped ahead of them and caught up to the elf as he used his sword as a lightsource.

"Xzar, I've noticed you've been keeping an eye on him ever since Beregost. Anything you'd care to share?"

"Nope~!"

"Not even any of Mulahey?"

The necromancer hissed, recoiling and protectively dropping a hand to a belt pouch as Ira snickered and raised a hand.

"Man the look on your face. Priceless!"

* * *

"Well now! Yeh cleared out the mines! I never thought ye'd do it!"

"Thanks, but it's getting late. We need to get back to Nashkel and to the mayor."

"The boys'll be glad to get back to work without havin' to fear for their lives. Helm guide yeh!"

Damion waved back to the foreman as they climbed the slope out of the quarry. The trip back to Nashkel was quiet, and they got into town as the sun started to hit the horizon.

"Alright, we'll get your report sent first, then-"

"I am death, come for thee. Surrender, and thy passa-"

Damion had an arrow into the air before he finished, though the flaming projectile missed as the assassin dodged to the left. Xan jerked to the side, surprised by the sudden onslaught as Ira hauled him out of the line of fire. Viconia cursed under her breath, moving to give the archer some cover even as he put another arrow into the air. As their assailant almost danced out of the path of it, he gave a short laugh and drew his short sword and closed the gap, trying to skirt the drow as she swiped at him with her mace.

"Kid, Viconia, hold!"

The archer retreated back a few paces while Viconia brought her shield up, snarling under her breath before blinking as no further attacks came.

"Now isn't this strange, you are now my friend!"

"Nice work, Xan."

The enchanter nodded meekly, watching his charmed target shift from foot to foot.

"I have been hired to kill you, yet now I love you. What is Nimbul to do?"

"Who hired you?"

"Yes! Nimbul will tell you, and -then- Nimbul will kill you! Let me tell you a story."

Ira shifted quietly closer, trying to subtly circle the assassin as he gestured with the short sword.

"There were once three pigs in a house of iron! This house had brought them fortune and comfort, but was now threatened by a big bad Wolf!"

Damion patiently knocked an arrow and shifted a step to the right to get a clear line of sight.

"I didn't threaten anyone. I just want to be left alone."

"Oh, but the three pigs already hired the small man called Nimbul. 'Nimbul', they says, 'you must kill this wolf for us. If you do, we will line your pockets with much gold!' they says. So Nimbul set out to kill the wolf!"

"You can walk away from this, Nimbul."

"Nimbul has fallen in love with the wolf, but if I cross my contract then Nimbul will die. So to his sorrow, he must carry out this order and end the wolf's life. Goodb-!"

A large rock came down over Nimbul's head, and as he fell senseless to the ground Ira casually dropped the rock to the side and wiped her hands off.

"Man, I love it when people monologue. Xzar?"

The necromancer gleefully skipped over, and as Damion moved to intercept the nashkel guards deftly cut the man's throat so that they could go through his pockets.

* * *

"You… All sleep in the same room?"

"Safer that way. If you want, you're welcome to get your own room. Hundred and ninety gold's your share of the cut, by the way, for the mines from the mayor and the guy."

"Yes, I… I think I will do this."

Ira nodded and tucked the gold into Xan's hand, watching the elf stagger towards the bar.

"Damion, I'm gunna run and go check on the turnip. Xzar's sent his report and is already in the room with Viconia. Try and get some sleep, alright? Room three."

The archer nodded, before moving towards the back. Viconia had already settled down in a corner near the door, while Xzar peered out from under the bed. With a sigh, Damion moved to clamber onto the bed and stretched out, closing his eyes and hoping sleep came quickly.

It wasn't long before there was a quiet knock on the door, and as Viconia got up and cautiously answered it she scowled at the elf who clutched his moonblade and shook like a leaf. With a sigh, she let him in, and then settled back down, watching Xan curl up in the corner across the door from her.

"We sleep in watches. Do you sleep or trance?"

"I… Sleep. If I trance, all I see is…"

"Then sleep. Ira will return soon, and take her watch. Then I will take mine, and then the boy will take his."

The enchanter nodded slightly, curling tighter around his sword.

* * *

"That's… Not good."

Ira peered down into the hole that Noobers charred corpse had been left in. Sniffing around, she shook her head and grimaced. Burned flesh and hair were strong scents that tended to overwhelm anything else, and so she started to circle. Two ever-widening laps out, and she caught the pungent scent of the halfling and some faint sort of spice heading towards town. He'd had help to get out, then, but who would have burned the body?

Grimacing, she scrubbed at her nose and started back towards the town proper to perhaps not so subtly inquire about any recent fires in the area.


	15. Best served by nightmare

"Kid?"

Damion snapped awake, bolting upright and wincing as his forehead connected with Ira's jaw, sending her stumbling back and off the bed with a curse.

"Mother fucker. That hurt."

"Ira? I… Sorry. I just… Bad dream."

"Seemed like. You were shouting."

"I… What did i say?"

"Sssomething about a father?"

The necromancer's voice drawled from the floor beside the bed, and in the darkness the archer winced.

"Xzar? Oh. Did… I wake everyone up?"

"Yes, Surfacer."

"I can't see…"

Some rusting preceded the sound of a muttered word in arcane and a burst of light as his sword lit, leaving Viconia cringing away from the sudden burst and Xan raising the sword to try and shed light further. Damion drew his legs up, looking to each of them and frowning at how Xzar had curled himself up the edge of the bed, folded his arms, and rested his chin on his wrists.

"I shook you for a good minute and nothing."

"It was…" The words died in his throat, and he shifted to put his back to the wall. "You… Don't want to hear it. Not really."

"Helps me keep tabs on where your head's at and your moral compass' pointed."

"Perhaps but he is right, I do not." Viconia interjected, hand raised to shield her eyes while she bared her teeth. "I am -tired-."

"Then~ you~ go~ back~ to~ Sleeeep~!" Xzar wiggled where he sat, voice climbing into a feminine sing-song as Viconia huffed and tucked back into her cloak. "Wanna wanna hear~!"

"No. Not… Not yet."

Ira eyed Damion, before shrugging and flopping down to sprawl out on the floor to the sound of the necromancer's grumbling while he slid back under the bed.

"Alright. Few hours 'till sun up anyways. I'll keep the rest've the watch."

"No, I… I've got it, Ira. I cant go back to sleep after that anyways."

"Suit yourself, Kid."

* * *

"Ira? I… I need help."

"Two hours of walking in silence and -now- he fesses up. Alright, what's on your mind?"

"We'll catch up." Damion waved the others onward as he and Ira fell back twenty or so paces, lowering his voice. "I can… I've used magic before. At Candlekeep. I've read out of scrolls and I've used wands, and I had my own spellbook once."

"This is all stuff I already know."

Ira held up a hand as she was side-eyed, before motioning for him to continue.

"What I'm getting at is… I know what magic feels like. And I sort of… I have a feeling. It's hard to describe. I know I don't have my book, I know I haven't prepared any spells but… I can feel it. In me. In my hands. It's like an itch."

"And you're telling me about this because…?"

"It… I've felt like this ever since the dream."

Ira grunted, eyes scanning along the sides of the road before she shrugged and turned to walk backwards and keep pace with him.

"Alright, I'm game. Whatcha think this magic in your hands can do?"

"Hurt people."

"Right. And you think this is somehow bad?"

"No! … Yes. I don't know."

"Well, use it on me."

Damion almost missed a step as he turned to gawk at her.

"What, now?"

"You dunno what it does aside from hurt someone. It's -really- unlikely that you can kill me with it. I've pretty much healed from the mines, so take your best shot."

"We should… Get Viconia, just in case."

"Hoy vey… Guys! Hold up a sec! We're going to experiment with something, and Bow-boy is concerned he might kill me accidentally."

The three ahead of them stopped, turning to wait for them to catch up with expressions that ranged between annoaynce to curiosity before Damion turned towards Ira.

"Are you… Are you -sure- about this?"

"Sure I'm sure."

"Alright… Here goes…"

He held out his hand, squinting.

"... Kid… Look, usually a component of spells is -intent- yeah?"

"This isn't easy you know!"

"Nothing ever is. But I'd like to do this before I die've old age, yeah?"

Damion scowled, focusing.

"Y'know, don't worry about it. Happens to one out of every five mages. Could be worse, could be a spell misfire-"

Ira grunted as a translucent diamond of white-green energy slammed into her before fliting back to Damion.

"... Huh."

"Larloch's… Minor drain…?"

The archer turned towards Xzar, blinking as the necromancer gnawed on a thumbnail.

"I've… Never cast that spell before. I've only heard of it."

"Nec-ro-man-cy~, to drain the life of another to supplement your own, yesss…" He leaned forward slightly, green eyes wide as he studied the archer. "Can you do it again?"

"No… Seems like... That was it."

"Don't worry. Usually with practice people can start going more rounds. Oh yeah, reminds me. So, uhh, bad news." Ira folded her hands in front of herself, twiddling her thumbs and looking up and off to the side.

"Momma Monty's Missing?"

"I- Xzar, how'd you know?"

"Damion did not go back for him." Xzar shifted from foot to food, tearing part of his thumbnail off. "Report is sent. He will say I deserted. Oh! Can we make him desert?"

"Aww, Xzar, you'd have to wash him for -ages-. You dunno where he's -been-. You'll get sick."

"What can we expect, Xzar?"

The necromancer frowned at Damion, shifting his weight back and forth before wilting slightly.

"... Death."

"Let's meet up with Jaheira, see what's going on and plan from there. This might not be as bad as you think."

"Ohoh, Kid, got a trick up your sleeve?"

"He's got at most a day and a night's lead. Ira, you're the fastest of us."

"Your you could, y'know, buy horses."

"Baldurs gate is closed, because of the bandit activity." Xan shifted uncomfortably as all eyes turned to him. "My fellow Greycloaks were to investigate-"

"Baldurs gate is closed? I might -life-." Xzar peered at Xan in wonderment, before moving to catch the elf's hands and swing him around, cackling.

"Does he not mean live?" Viconia watched the two go in circles (one rather more enthusiastically than the other) before looking towards Damion, who shook his head.

"Your guess is as good as mine. C'mon, let's get to Beregost quickly so we can figure out what our next move is."

* * *

"Ira!"

The brawler grunted as a lithe colourfully festooned figure draped himself against her side, grimacing as the juggler threw his arms around her.

"You're alive! I waited -FOREVER- for you!"

"That's nice and all, but couldja stop groping my arse?"

"Never~."

"Ira? Is this… A friend of yours?"

Ira grunted, before peering at the bell-wearing figure that was nuzzling her cheek affectionately.

"Friend's a very -strong- word. This is… Eh…"

"Ten~! Like the number. Very easy to remember, no? Yes? I held onto a package for you! Well, for -him- mostly, but there -is- an item for you." He pinched one of her cheeks, drawing a slow, tolerant exhale from Ira.

"Room first, yeah?"

The juggler drew back, looking pleasantly surprised.

"Finally decided to offer yourse-elp!"

Ira shook her head after hauling down on one of the bells on his hat, causing the leading edge to slip down over his eyes.

"Not in a thousand years. Come on."

They filed up to the room, and as Ten closed the door behind Xan he spun on the spot and bowed with a flourish, pulling a wrapped package out of thin air and offering it towards Ira.

"This is mine?"

"No. The Boy's. -Yours- I must pull from the crack of my ass."

"Eyugh." She turned, holding the box out for Damion to take as she waved to the rest of the group. "Might want to sit down. This might take a bit."

"Your wand~."

She turned back to the juggler as Viconia settled onto a chair, Xzar staring blankly at their temporary host and Xan muttering something about needing food and excusing himself back downstairs. As Ten looked at her expectantly, she accepted the wand and turned it over a few times.

"You have found a hornets nest, and decided to stick your foot in it I see."

"Better a foot than a face."

"But it will -be- your face, if you are not careful. Come back with me. I can-"

"I made a pact, and I'm damn well not breaking it just 'cause you think I can't do this."

"You are not -ready- for this."

"And?"

Ten laughed, a giddy sound before stretching and shrugging.

"Very well. Long since have I learned the wisdom of dropping an argument with you. Once you have a notion trapped inside that stubborn head of yours…"

"Erm… Mister Ten?"

"Yes, Delicious-Smelling-Boy-Child?"

Damion balked slightly, before shaking his head.

"What do you mean by a hornets nest?"

"Well, you see, when a female hornet and a male hornet love each other, very very much-" Ten neatly sidestepped Ira's attempt to stomp on one of his feet, gliding closer. "-A powerful figure does not -like- you."

"Why not?"

"Because you are a -rival- in his eyes."

"But I didn't do anything!"

"You didn't have to. He nearly got you when you left Candlekeep…"

"Know something about the armored arsehole then, Ten?"

The jester pivoted, bowing low as Ira folded her arms.

"Many things, but no more than you. Almost seven feet in height, wields a two handed sword-"

"Do you know anything about a house of iron?"

"Grown ups are talking, Delicious-Smelling-Boy-Child. Don't interrupt-"

"Answer his question. One of the assassins said three pigs in a house of iron hired him."

Ten pouted, straightening and folding his arms.

"No. You are -irritating- me. I have done as promised and held onto the packages. I have received my payment, my taste of Divinity already, faint as it was and-"

"Ten?"

"Ah-yes?"

"Your what?"

The jester blinked, before tilting his head as Xzar turned slowly to peer towards Damion, lightly gnawing on his knuckles.

"Payment? Taste of Divinity? She smelled of Īśbara spana. I do not understand your confusion, that one smells as such too."

He jerked a thumb towards Damion, before Ira grunted and shook her head.

"Just making sure my ears still work. How long do you have this room for?"

"Tomorrow. But this place is -boring-."

"To your standards? Yeah, I could see that. Go off, then You've got people downstairs you're performing for, right?"

"Oh. Right. Yes. Dinner?"

"We'll see."

He curtsied, before flouncing out the door.

"This foe you seek… He is seven feet in height?"

The Drow moved to close the door behind the jester, frowning over towards the elf.

"Yeah. I'm about thirty percent sure that he's two elves in a trenchcoat."

"Īśbara spana…"

Ira turned from Viconia, looking towards Xzar as he slowly got down onto his knees, staring at Damion with childlike wonder.

"Xzar? What… Are you doing?"

"It all clicks… How things click, the clarity, the sound the smell…"

Damion leaned back slightly as the necromancer crawled forward, reaching out as if to try and touch his knee. Eyes darting to Ira and Viconia, he raised his hands towards Xzar as if to gently ward him off.

"What is the mad wizard doing?"

"Being mad, prob'ly. What's your take on this?"

"I know what the words mean, but I do not understand their application. If Damion is a godspawn, then it seems very strange that he is pathetic. Would he not be powerful?"

"D'pends on what sorta god he's got lineage from. My question's what's your take on what Xzar's doing."

Viconia shook her head slightly as Xzar pressed his forehead against one of the archer's shins, mumbling under his breath as Damion shifted uncomfortably and tried to get the necromancer to sit up.

"Worshiping, if I had to say. But I do not understand why."

"Not helping, you two." Damion glanced up at them, before looking back towards Xzar.

"Mh. Could you do me a solid and go check on Xan? I don't like this, and I don't like how he wandered off and didn't come back."

"I will do what I can, but I do not promise much. Cities are dangerous for me."

Ira nodded as the Drow pulled her hood down and stepped out, closing the door behind the cleric before moving to the window and peering out through it.

"Ira? Do you understand what he's saying?"

"Bits and pieces. It's an old language, and I'm not much've a linguist but it might explain why he listens to you."

He blinked, reaching down to try and pull Xzar up and failing as the necromancer dropped to press his forehead against his shoes.

"... Well? Translation?"

"Something along the lines of 'My god, I have found you'. Lots've fanatical gibberish otherwise." There was a pause, before Ira squinted. "Got that backwards I think. 'I have found you, my god' maybe?"

Damion shook his head slightly, before moving to push the chair back and kneel down by Xzar as he shook, trying to tilt his face upwards.

"Xzar? Xzar, come on, get up. I, uhh… I need your help with something. I need you to do something for me."

Vibrant green eyes snapped up to meet his, and he shifted uncomfortably under the intensity they held.

"I need you to keep this a secret, okay? Once we're settled, I want to talk to you about this, but right now, I can't… I don't know what to do right now and I need some time. There are people after me still, there's someone in town we need to find, and we need to worry about Montaron."

"Can I _eat_ him?"

Damion paused, before looking thoughtful.

"... I... don't see why not, but we have to find him first. There's… I need to have some time to figure out what we're doing. Can you keep this a secret for me? Can you be subtle about this?"

Xzar scowled for a moment before relaxing, nodding as his eyes partially lidded.

"Thank you. Ira?"

"Eh?"

"I think we need to join up with Jaheira."

"Ehch."


	16. Best served by blade

Xzar sat complacently on the floor in the shared room, comfortable with his back against the bed and his spellbook across his lap. He could almost feel the eyes upon him, but brushed it off as best he could while he tried to re-order his thoughts once more. Montaron had a head start on them. He had successfully sent his report, which meant either Montaron would be delayed shooting down every blackbird to try and intercept it or that it would get to Baldur's Gate first.

To which, if he intercepted the report, Xzar would be fated to die within the week or (worse) recovered and sent back to another three by three by six horizontal hotbox to rot. If the report got there first then all it meant was that it bought him a little more time, because despite the city being closed Montaron very likely knew ways to smuggle himself into the city. At which point, he would go to the Zhentarim and tell them what had happened…

He didn't like his prospects. Die in a week or die in two weren't very good odds, despite the stroke of good fortune he had come across. Maybe, if he possibly sent another letter, if he mentioned the Archer they would see, they would understand. A faint grimace tweaked his features before his expression smoothed out. Even he wasn't mad enough to think that would work. The boy was a terrible liar and was already having trouble acting harder than he actually was. He was -soft-, but more importantly he was also malleable.

"Xzar?"

The necromancer jerked slightly, peering up to where Damion sat on the edge of the bed nearby.

"Something troubling you?"

"How is it that they were… How do I put this. How do they know if you and Montaron have split ways?"

"Mamma Monty would tell dem."

"But he has to get there first?"

Xzar paused, faltering for a moment before shrugging.

"I would presume they would have alternate methods of surveillance. Most likely magical means."

"And how did they keep you from killing one another?"

"Ah. Yes. That." The necromancer closed his spellbook, setting it down onto his lap and smoothing his hands across the worn cover. "Are you familiar with the magical concept of sympathy?"

"Vaguely. I, uhh… I didn't so much as have magic lessons as keep getting into trouble reading things me and Ims shouldn't have."

Xzar nodded as Damion shifted uncomfortably.

"The laws of sympathy are simple. The closer one thing is to another, the easier it is to use one to effect the other. So it follows that one could very easily use part of something to effect the rest, seen?"

The archer nodded, slipping from the bed to sit next to him and gesturing for Xzar to continue.

"Somewhere, I do not know where, is a little vial of -me-." He held up one hand, indicating a vial perhaps an inch in height, before holding up his other hand and mirroring the gesture. "And somewhere, I do not know where, is a little vial of that _rabbit_. Each is keyed, so that should one break because of the actions of the one or the other, so too will the other. And should one die… So too will the other. It must be a death blow."

"So if Montaron stabbed himself in the eye…?"

"My eye would explode and I would die, yes."

Damion winced, before looking at his knees.

"... But if I stabbed him in the eye...?"

"My eye would not, no."

"So... Why didn't you get somebody else to kill him then? If you hurt him and it reflects onto you but someone else hurts him and it doesn't...?"

Xzar drummed his fingers against his spellbook as he blew a stray strand of hair out of his face.

"Because if one breaks and the other does not, an -inquisition- is made. I do not want to have to expect a Zhentish Inquisition."

"... I'm sorry he got away."

The necromancer let out an uneven cackle, clapping his hands over his mouth as it tapered off into a giggle.

"Worth it~, to have found -you-!"

"Xzar, I-"

Xzar patted the air before pantomiming zipping his lips and throwing away the key. He sat on his hands for good measure, gaining a sheepish smile.

"... We'll talk about this more, I promise. We need to find these vials, then. Is… there any way to break a link like that without it, though?"

"I do not know." The necromancer shrugged slightly, hands slipping back onto his lap as his eyes partially lidded. "Much was lost to me. Perhaps in time I will recall, but time is something we do not _have_."

"What happens if we don't find it in time?"

"They will use it to find me."

"And kill you?"

Xzar scoffed, tossing his head.

"Should I be so lucky!"

"Couldn't we just kill Montaron and-"

"Who's killing the mouse now?"

"Ira! You're back!"

Ira quirked a brow, stepping aside to usher Viconia and Xan into the room and closing the door behind her.

"Good news bad news time."

"Uhh… Bad news first?"

"The main floors crawling with flaming fist who're looking to collect bounties on bandit scalps. Viconia almost got caught but fled into the kitchen."

Damion winced, moving to stand.

"What's the good news?"

"They didn't see her and Xan prob'ly gained five pounds by way of salads."

The enchanter in question moved to settle down in one of the corners of the room, arms wrapped loosely around the moonblade. Damion shook his head and glanced over to Viconia.

"Are you okay?"

"I am unharmed. It was only luck which allowed me safety."

The archer winced, before nodding.

"I'm… Sorry. Thank you, for risking yourself like that."

The words seemed to almost startle the drow, before she shook her head and looked away.

"They came in after I had reached the main floor. You could not have known they would arrive."

"Not that this isn't touching, we need to make a few key decisions here. We've got a few problems we need to address." Ira folded her arms, leaning back against the closed door as she surveyed the others. "One? Montaron got away. Two? There's still people trying to kill the Kid. Three? This iron crisis is loads bigger than originally thought, and we've got a contact in town we can remove fingers from for information. What are our priorities?"

"People trying to kill me, Montaron, then iron crisis." Damion sat on the edge of the bed, settling his hands in his lap and weaving his fingers together. "But I don't think that's the order we can do them in."

"Jaheira and her group went south west, after the guy with the purple circle on his head's dame."

"Xan? Would you be able to deliver a message for us?"

The enchanter blinked up from the blade he had lain across his lap, glancing between the others before settling on Damion.

"Hmm?"

"I need you to go to Jaheira and bring her up to speed. I was hoping to meet up with her here, but… Sort of forgot we'd sent Minsc to her. Can you thank her for what she left for us too?"

"I will do what I can, but expect very little."

"So other than that, what are we doing? Where are we going?" Ira tilted her head, blowing some of the hair out of her face to better watch the archer.

"We don't know where the people who are trying to kill me are from, so we don't have much of a lead there beyond 'three pigs in an iron house'-" Damion lifted his hands, air quoting before continuing. "- and that's not a whole lot to go on. We can't get into Baldur's Gate until it opens, but it's closed because of the bandit problems, right? So if we take care of the bandit problems, we get into Baldur's Gate, and we can get to the people who have Xzar's blood. For the iron crisis stuff… Well, the guy's over at one of the inns and we don't know how long he'll be here for, right?"

The enchanter lifted a hand, shoulders hunching.

"Feldpost's. I passed by it on my way through town. I could show you where it is, although I doubt we will be very successful."

"Thank's Xan. We'll do that before you head out, then. How are we for supplies?" Damion glanced over to Ira, who's face scrunched up as she thought for a moment.

"I doubt you'll run out've arrows any time soon. We've got dried meats and fruits, but we should stock up on some before we head out."

"Right. Considering Xzar, Viconia and myself are all being hunted for something, we'll stay here until you get back with what we'll need, Ira."

"Me? You realize I'm the worst when it comes to talking to people right?"

"Yeah, but Xan should rest so that he can leave as soon as he can, shouldn't he?"

Ira paused, before laughing easily.

"Alright, Kid, you've actually thought this one out. Either that, or you're getting better at pulling good reasons out've your arse. Either way, I'll bite, provided you give me some gold to spend. I don't really have any."

"Get whatever you think we might need."

Ira nodded, accepting the pouch of gold that was handed over to her and turning to head out.

"Got it."

* * *

"This… Is not what I meant."

Ira held up her hands, trying to look innocent and failing as she snickered while Damion looked up from what she had returned with.

"Oh come on, it's a good idea!"

He sighed, before turning to Viconia.

"She brought these for you. Hair dye and… Well…"

"It's actor's makeup. It'll help you get around unnoticed if you put it on your face. Sure, it'll take some practice, but still. I got some pickled greens for Xan along with a spellbook, and-"

"A knife sharpening kit, along with filleting knives?"

"For Xzar. C'mon, he's gunna need them."

Damion closed his eyes, suppressing a shudder before shaking his head.

"And... And the strange looking daggers?"

"Crossbow bayonets. I wanna try something with'em. I got more food too, you know, so stop looking at me like I ate your firstborn in front of you."

The archer shook his head, before turning towards where Xan was curled up under a blanket and leaning slightly to continue murmuring to Ira.

"Did you get him some new robes?"

"And boots. The hell do you think I am, a demon? He's a useful asset, so he should be kit properly. Got some basic spell components too, though I dunno what the heck he needs otherwise. So while he's sleeping, we staying here or heading for the arsehole?"

"Yes." Damion cracked a slight smile as Ira put a hand to her chest, looking affronted before continuing. "Xan will stay here, he needs to rest and we'll be back before he wakes up if we go and take care of Mulahey's contact. Viconia? Do you want to try this stuff before we go, or after?"

"It would be best to make the attempt now. I have… Never used these materials before, however." Viconia turned the makeup kit slightly, peering at the contents as she frowned.

"Well, the hair dye'll take hours, so for now we'll just do your face. Kid?"

Damion blinked, looking at Ira as if she had grown a second head.

"Wh… What. You think I know how to do this?"

"Well, you're about t'learn. Think've it this way, you ever need to disguise yourself with this you'll have a solid foundation. Heh."

The archer winced, before sighing.

* * *

Feldpost's inn was quiet, for the most part, beyond how they were accosted at the door for being 'adventurer types' by an angry drunk who went back to his drink after a moment. It didn't take long for them to head up and, while they were on the stairs, start muttering about a plan.

"We know absolutely nothing about this person, so how are we going to handle this?"

"Oh! Oh oh oh! Pick me! I have a -plan-!" Xzar bounced in place, stretching his arm and waving his hand about.

"Alright, Xzar, first step slow down so we can understand you." Ira leaned back against the bannister, folding her arms and grinning. "What's this plan?"

"-You- punch! -He- shoots! -She- defends, and -I-... I come up behind him and make him stop moving~."

"That's… An alright plan, Xzar, but how would you stop him from moving?"

The necromancer's eyes partially lidded, voice dropping into a low rolling purr as he held his hands out as if to grasp at the elf.

"Sssame way I did to the Rrrabbit, mmhmhmhm~..."

"Points for the creepy giggle, but I'm pretty sure I was out for that."

"I didn't see much of it, but he came out from behind the cleric after paralyzing him somehow and stabbing him a number of times."

Ira ah'd quietly, nodding before shrugging.

"'S as good a plan as any, I guess."

"Yeah, what could go wrong?" Damion smiled slightly, drawing an arrow and knocking it to the bow.

* * *

Watching Viconia resist the petrification was a curious thing, Ira noted as she kept both of the mages arms cranked behind his back at a painful (for him) angle. Her magic resistance served her well as she went from the white of stone with faint cracks back to her makeup-covered peachish complexion. It had been a close call, the magic having initially almost taken hold before she had bristled and focused, fighting the magic and slowly overcoming it.

"Why? Why did it work on the Tempus-bitch but not you!"

"You've petrified someone else in the area?" Damion checked over the cleric, relaxing as she appeared relatively unharmed beyond minor cracks under the makeup.

Tranzig gulped, flinching back and cringing as the motion brought him into contact with the brawler and yelping as she reached around and flicked the arrow sticking out of his shoulder.

"Answer the shooty archer's question, yeah?"

"Y-yes!"

"Where?"

"Carnival! The carnival!"

Ira applied a smidge more pressure, and the mage squeaked.

"P-p-please! Please let me go! I'll tell you everything I know!"

"Ira?" Damion peered at the elf, before frowning as she shook her head.

"Every experience I've ever had with letting people go's had the decision coming back to bite me in the arse."

There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the whimpering of the mage with his arms trapped behind his back before the archer nodded towards Xzar and left the room.


	17. Best served filleted

_Content warning: heavily implied cannibalism, and *shudders*** backstory**_

* * *

Xzar hummed merrily to himself as he skipped out of the room, Ira hauling the 'unconscious' mage over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes wrapped in his cloak and gagged. A wave of one of the letters they had found on his body kept the fuss from the innkeeper to a minimum, and they left the building without incident.

"Alright, so Xzar and I'll go about a mile west've town with this guy, be probably about, what, an hour?" Ira glanced towards the Necromancer, looking back to the archer once she received a nod of confirmation. "Then we'll head back to the Juggler. Xan'll head out soon so he probably wont be there, we'll sleep for the night and then go… Where, exactly?"

"I want to discuss that when you get back. I have a few ideas but I'm… Trying really hard not to think about what Xzar's going to do to the body."

"Distracting, isn't it." She snickered, before adjusting the body and grunting. "Heavy bastard, if nothing else."

"Da~mi~on~!"

"Yes, Xzar?"

The necromancer flit around to keep pace with the archer, leaning towards the dark haired human with a wide grin.

"You are a Glorious, Grandiose, Generous leader~."

"If you can find the petrification spell, do you think you could cast it?"

Xzar's mouth opened before he paused, expression shifting into one of contemplation.

"That's… Not a bad idea at all. 'Cause technically, if you're petrified, you're not dead. Soul or spirit's still there and all. I was thinking about it but there's no way I could train a basilisk in so short a time." Ira shrugged as best she could with her load, before glancing around.

"We might have a solution to the problem, then. But, Ira, why were you thinking about petrifying him? He's tethered to Xzar, so I understand that part, but…?"

"Alright. Let me see if I can explain."

"You're not going to say 'forget about it' again are you?" Damion turned slightly to eye her.

"Heh, nah, not this time. So, I was running interference basically from outside Candlekeep to the Friendly Arm Inn every time he came close and tried to stick his hands in your pockets. He didn't like that, so he decided to make a mistake and not kill me."

"Why was that a mistake? He needed you to fight for him."

"Alright, so say someone says they're going to stab you. Do you just let them?"

"No."

"Good. Now say someone says they're going to stab Imoen if you don't stab someone for them. Do you let them stab Imoen, or do you try and find a way to stab them?"

Damion narrowed his eyes.

"I try and find a way to stop them from hurting Imoen."

"Right. So now, say that you know Imoen's being watched by these people and they say that so long as you stay out of their way, they won't stab Imoen. What would you do then?"

"I'd… Stay out of their way."

"Half points. Either make sure she can handle herself or do so only until you can remove them from the equation. These are all what I call 'Combat Mathematics'. There's always different factors, and you're always trying to find the answer, right? So the Mouse says 'stay out of my way or I'll stab you'."

"Did you stay out of his way then?"

Ira snorted, adjusting the body over her shoulder.

"Hell no. I dug a hole and put him in it, remember?"

"So what happens if he tries to kill you then?"

"I put him in the ground again. One way, or another. 'Course, next time I see him I'm turning him into a newt."

"She is saying his mistake was that he threatened and did not act, Surfacer. He did not follow through when he had the chance. This has bred resentment and strife and thus will be the cause of his misfortune." Viconia shifted to fall into pace beside Ira from where she had been trailing behind, keeping her hood down as she kept an eye out. "I believe she is advising you to rely upon actions, more so than words."

"Sorta? I'm saying that if people have something they think they can threaten you with to make you do what they want, chances're good that they're going to. Once someone sees they can threaten you, they're gunna to keep doing it because they know you'll bend. So don't bend, plan. And make sure when you knife'em for daring to have the nerve to do something that you don't leave anything living behind of'em so that they can't come back and knife -you-. Strike fast, strike when they're not looking, and strike hard."

"Is that what you meant when you said you don't do hostages?"

Ira blinked, before snickering.

"Lemme tell you, last time someone tried to use a hostage against me I put my hand through both my squad-mate's chest and the arsehole that had captured him. Well, not his -arsehole-, but you get what I mean. There's places in bodies you can punch through where the person'll -survive-, yeah?"

"... Can you show me?"

The elf blinked over at the archer, before grinning.

"Sure. Xzar's prob'ly got a more precise anatomical knowledge of people than I do though."

* * *

Viconia pursed her lips as she followed Damion back to the Juggler, glancing back to where Xzar and Ira had split off into the woods. There was not a single time that the latter had seemed like what she had ever encountered for elves, nor what she had been told they were like while she lived in the Underdark. She didn't know much about the surface factions or races beyond her limited experience with them, but there was decidedly something wrong.

A puzzle for another time, she decided, and looked towards the archer's back. For now, there was the fact that people who spoke Infernal had labeled the dark-eyed youth as a god-spawn, without ever uttering what god had spawned him. As a cleric herself, she could see that he had no knowledge of what divine heritage meant, what it implied he could do, and she pondered whether it would be an affront to Shar if she aided him in this.

Perhaps, considering it might eventually cultivate a rival, but maybe, just maybe…

Glancing around, she leaned in as they walked to murmur.

"Surfacer, do you know what god it is you are spawned from?"

* * *

"You seem to know what god is the Kid's sire, Xzar."

The necromancer paused in his work, slowly peering over the corpse between them as if to try and get a read on if she was asking anything beyond the obvious. She quirked a brow in response, before pointing the arm she was holding towards him.

"Don't give me that look. I need t'know what I'm dealing with if I'm gunna have a chance at keeping the Kid alive. From your actions, it's got to be one that's dead, right? And if you worshiped them, probably not a god of sunshine and flowers. I got you the filleting knives in your hand, what'm I gunna do, begrudge you your moral choice of deity? Tell me the story."

Xzar lifted a knuckle to his lips, gnawing and then blinking as he realized it wasn't one of his own, setting the digit aside for later. Head tilting, he studied the elf and then hummed.

"One day, a very young Xzar was playing with his dolls. His Mommy was in the room, while his fake daddy yelled. Now, Xzar was very -small- at this time."

Ira gave the necromancer a pained smile, internally cursing at the mistake she had made as the necromancer picked up fingers and acted out his words with them.

"Xzar's Mommy loved him very much, so when Xzar's fake daddy was very mean to him and his Mommy one time too many, she took him and they left. All Xzar's Mommy could think of, was killing Xzar's fake daddy, but she had to keep Xzar safe too, yes? So she went to a temple, and prayed for the strength to commit an act she wished for with most of her heart. Time passed, and eventually Xzar's Mommy was strong enough. When she came back, the priests told her that what she had done in their Lord's name was right, was just, and was good, but that she had to give something to them to pay for her training. To pay for their teachings." Xzar's face split into a wide grin, voice dropping into a low purr. "She gave them herself. In doing so, I gained an education, I gained knowledge and power, and I gained -faith-. I gained a home, and co-workers, and when the Arcane Spark revealed itself within me I became -complete-. And then one day, I heard it. A prophecy spelling my Lord's -Doom-."

His grin faltered, voice shifting into a mournful croon, and Ira fought the urge to either yawn or prompt him to get to the point.

"The Lord of Murder shall Perish, but in his doom he shall spawn a score of mortal progeny. Chaos will be sewn from their passage. So sayeth the wise Alaundo…"

Xzar trailed off, shifting to stand from where he had been kneeling, raising his hands to the sky while his voice broke with grief.

"And it was -true-! One day, He was -Gone-! His strength, his voice, stripped away, leaving a void, leaving a terrible, gaping -hole- where once there had been the Second Breath! The absence, feeling his blessings upon me like a cloak draped about my soul to shelter me from the storm, feeling that torn away as he ended -Broke- me!" Clutching his hands to his head, the necromancer stumbled before dropping down to his knees. "I can -remember-. I can -remember- what it was like, as if a limb was missing, to reach for something that was no longer -there-! They came, they broke down the doors of the Laboratory, and…!"

The elf watched the necromancer as he went silent, head tilting before she leaned back as Xzar lifted his head to stare through her with pale green eyes, voice a hoarse whisper.

"I can -feel- it, when he speaks. I can hear it, when he moves. Weaker, before, but now he is -awakening- with the maturity that must come to all who live. There, in that hole, in that void, in that absence, that phantom limb… Like fresh air, after years spent in a hole, I can smell it. He is not my Lord, but he is -young-. He can be taught how to harness his power, and maybe… Maybe he will fill this pit, and make me -whole- again. I have nothing else, only the shreds of a murdered faith."

Ira nodded slightly, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

"... Well, alright then. Answers that."

* * *

Damion jumped slightly, turning as a finger prodded him in the lower back.

"Stab, you're dead."

"Ira! Why'n'd you do that?"

"Largely 'cause you weren't paying attention."

"When did you get back?" The archer grumbled under his breath, turning back to his drink as the elf settled onto a stool next to him.

"Few minutes ago. Xzar's heading upstairs to study or sleep. We had a talk. Was a good talk."

"If my father'sh not my father, then who ish, Ira?"

She blinked over at him, before narrowing her eyes.

"You… Are really drunk aren't you."

"No." Damion scowled over at her, even as she shook her head and snickered.

"Suit yourself. Denial doesn't work for you though. Gotta say, beyond being a spawn, what's it matter who it was?"

"What if- what if they'sh shome short of terrible, evil thing, an'… An' I-"

"Alright, I'm gunna stop you right there. Look, I know you had a hell of a bad dream, can shoot a sort of nasty spell and had what some might consider strange tendencies as a kid, but you can be whatever the hell you want to be. That's the thing about mortals, you aren't bound by what you are. You've got a -choice-." The brawler leaned against the bar, resting her chin on her fist. "Take it from me, Kid, that's more than most've the people I've known."

"Did you know? That why you're helping me? Ish it-?"

"No. I'm helping you 'cause you're young and manipulable and if I forge you into a weapon my odds of success on my mission increase tenfold. That you're a spawn just means I'll get a higher yield if I help you right. 'Cause the armored arsehole is... Is..." Ira paused, eyes narrowing suspiciously as she resumed and seemed to start really thinking over the words. "... Someone who... Considers you a rival. Is ridiculously powerful, and took down someone who by all accounts was a mage who took out two ogres and two henchmen without breaking a sweat."

"... 'M shorry... 'M sho shorry..."

"Not yet you're not. But I got bad news for you, you're going to start the most important training of your life tomorrow."

"Whusshat?"

The brawler rolled her eyes, tapping him on the shoulder before starting to help him off of the stool and heading upstairs.

"How t'dodge, Kid. C'mon, let's get you to bed so you can sleep off the worst of this and in the morning, teach you a lesson about why excess booze is bad."


	18. Best served with coffee

_Content Warning: It's come to my attention that there are some people who haven't played Baldur's Gate and have no idea what some of the characters look like. If you don't want to read a boring chapter or you already know most of this stuff, by all means skip this chapter._

* * *

Sitting in his flat in Sigil, Tenterni idly swished his feet through a tub of milk and honey while brushing his hair. He sat in what he had come to think of as his studio, and surrounding him stood a plethora of easels each with a twelve by sixteen portrait. Each one had a mote of coloured light above it, and as he hummed and stretched his wings he contemplated each face he had painted. The first, and farthest, of course was the one who had started it all.

It was split down the middle with a thin line of black, almost imperceptible against the right half of the painting. It held a black scaled snout with the lips curled back in a fierce snarl away from yellowed, pointed teeth. Above the half-maw was a glittering, silver eye framed with red that was partially hidden, partially protected by the thick plate of bone and scale that made up the creatures brow and crest before it smoothed back into a set of partially up swept horns. All in all he felt it was a fitting rendition. Perfect for the contrast of the left side of the portrait.

Short, messy brown hair that was uneven and partially in the way. A high cheekbone and slanted brown eye bearing silver undertones with a little bit of an extra reptilian tilt. A low eyebrow and somewhat larger than average nose. Square, blunted teeth partially hidden by thin lips just a shade darker than the tanned olive colour of the skin. A chin that came to a point, and he had tried his hardest to capture her diminutive form and frame. Tenterni tilted his head as he surveyed the portrait and hummed, his red lips curling upwards at the corners as they parted into a grin.

"Ira, Ira, woe to thine foes, for thou are -fierce- from thine crown to thy toes~..."

He thought back to the brute when he had first met her. Law-abiding as all of her kind were, but unusually quiet he had sensed the utter -boredom- that had suffused her. It had been why he had approached her for their little pact, their _deal_ and so far the ever so slight taint of chaos that infected her with each use of the orb he had gifted her made her all the more enjoyable to watch. She wasn't the -smartest- of her kind, but she had good instincts. She could smell trouble a mile away and knew the value of a tactical retreat. He almost wondered how she had gotten her superiors to allow her to take the time away from the Blood War to indulge in this little game of theirs. With another stretch, he cast his eyes to the second farthest portrait.

Tall, with dark tanned skin, the smooth, straight black hair at his temples hung down in front of his shoulders in a twinned pair of braids and tied off with leather while the rest settled down his back to the bottom of his shoulder blades. The human looked very unassuming, with dark eyes were partially hidden by straight-cut bangs and painted to appear as if he was partially turning to look over his shoulder towards the artist. There was a haunted look to his face, still round with the baby fat of youth that life had yet to burn away. His favourite part to paint had been the hawk nose, and he had added dark smudges under the eyes almost an afterthought to make it look as if the subject hadn't slept in some time.

Which was true, he theorized. From what he could tell the archer had been a loner throughout his life, depending only on the elderly human mage Gorion for a father figure and the bouncy pink-clad thief Imoen for the majority of his social interactions. It was a shame that one of the two pillars of his support had almost been left behind and the other had been murdered right out of the gates of the great fortress and library, Candlekeep. Situated as it was on the famed Sword Coast and with the hefty toll of a tome of great worth required as an entry fee, the then-helpless Damiondred Jetovski had at that time no choice but to move forward.

It was fortunate, he thought as he turned towards the third portrait, that Imoen had followed them out. It was hard to imagine what would have happened if the human with her rounded hips who stood a few inches under six foot tall, her shoulder length hair that framed her light skinned and impish face and smiling eyes hadn't showed up when she had to help pull her brother from the brink of despair. Much as it might have been enjoyable to watch, it would have been a -waste- if she had let him fall, considering Tenterni wouldn't have known to watch at the time and would have missed the inevitable descent into madness and death by wolves.

No, this was -much- better, watching the way the archer struggled and grew, how he sent away his only sister who loved him and was full of hope and joy and youthful exuberance in the whole wide world of Faerun to be protected by the Harper Pair while he worked out how exactly the fourth and fifth portraits fit into his life. One, could turn into the most useful tool and ally of them all while the other...

Ten heaved a sigh, idly reaching and (with a small cantrip of a spell) sending a ghostly magical hand across the room to fetch a the neglected mug of coffee. Another murmur had it warming up, and he idly circled a finger over the contents even as his eyes studied the fourth portrait in particular. It had been -fun- to paint. He felt it had captured Xzar's personality and traits perfectly.

Wild, tawny brown hair that was swept this way and that by the wind, green eyes set in a slightly aged face as time, suffering and the very nature of his magic took their toll. Black greasepaint patterns across his brown and around his lips that extended his smile halfway across his cheeks and a rounded nose that showed a history of being flattened and fixed. Old enough to grow facial hair, good enough with a knife that he never had enough bristles to disrupt the patterns, there was a manic intensity to the painting that had been captured by the too-wide smile and wideness of the eyes and an insanity hinted at by how the averagely tall if starvation-thin human had been painted as if chewing on some of his own fingers while dressed in his deep green robes and sash with it's green and purple stripes.

Of them all, Tenretni mused as he sipped his coffee, the Necromancer was perhaps the most wild and his favourite. From what he had been able to gather the man was a Zhent, which meant that he worked for a deliciously unsavory group that focused on amassing wealth, subtle influence and mercenary might. The most hilarious fact of it all was that the Zhent had been (and still was, to a degree) fanatical enough in his faith that he was willing to throw everything away and risk his life for some half-baked godling who had a very good chance of crumbling like a house of cards after somebody bumped it.

Still, the biggest threat to the necromancer was probably the fifth portrait. The half-man, halfling, hinfolk and hindrance. Ruddy brown skin, hair pulled back into a short tail scarred and usually snarling as he snuck around in his leather armor with a short sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. Smart, and canny with the experience of years spent on the streets and making a living as a Zhentarim mercenary the hard way, he had sealed the necromancers fate when he had sent the letter to Baldur's Gate by bird and was whiling away his time as he waited for the inevitable order to end Xzar. Tenterni almost couldn't wait to see how the showdown would play out. Would Damiondred save the human from the half-man, and by doing so cement his loyalty? Would he throw the necromancer under the wagon and in doing so wash his hands of some of the evil he was allowing, nay, the evil he was propagating? Would the Halfling end them both and collect both bounties?

Sighing contently at the thought of all the possible ways for the situation could go, he lamented the fact that there would be so few players on the stage at the time. After all, Portrait Three was with Portraits Six and Seven. The Harpers, belonging to an organization devoted to maintaining the balance between good and evil by trying to prevent any faction that fell under either category from gaining too much power. The Godling's foster father had been one of them, he recalled, and as Ten sipped his coffee he turned to survey the portraits of Imoen's current guardians.

Khalid, the calimshite half-elf, with his military cut dark hair and fine, pointed features that made his expressive and chocolate brown eyes all the more vivid. He had the darker skin native to those who dwelled in the deserts, though it was largely hidden by the heavier armor he favoured. No matter where he went, his step was heavy with both the physical weight of his shield and armor plus the emotional weight of a past trauma that had left him with a stutter and insecure in his ability. He never went anywhere without either the yellow, red and white stripped scarf he wore or his wife.

Tenterni's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the seventh portrait, sulking as he remembered how she had in essence blocked him from a good time at the Juggler. Somewhat on the stocky side for a half-elf, her features held more of the human roundness to them, even as her long reddish brown hair curled and coiled about her face and down her back. Her nose held a bump along the bridge, indicative of a past of breakage and healing, and as Ten shifted on his stool he scowled. A more homely face than a beautiful one, prone to the pursed-lip and resting bitch-face look that came from a lifetime of being disappointed by the stupidity of others. The only things he had -liked- about her was that she was slightly shorter than Imoen, slightly taller than Khalid, and her eyebrows were -impeccable- as well as perfect for being arched. She held herself with a sternness and discipline that held in check the temper of a summer storm.

With a huff, the Sensate pulled his feet from the bucket and settled them onto the towel, flicking a hand and watching as the towel ruffled across his skin and then spent a solid minute wiggling his toes. The harpy always made him feel as sour as she generally looked, and for contrast he wondered if the eighth portrait had ever spent as much time with her own looks as he was now. They had milk in the underdark, after all.

Viconia DeVir of Menzoberranzan, Drow, coalskin and by her very upbringing a creature of decadence, cruelty and indulgence, she was perhaps the one he understood the most out of all of them. They both came from a chaotic culture dominated by beautiful women, and they both had escaped. They both had set out into the world trying to hide what they were to gain a better understanding of where they might carve out a home for themselves, and both had lived with no direction to go but forward. The both even had white hair.

There, however, the similarities between himself and the cleric of Shar. She was short, perhaps a few inches over five feet while he himself stood a heady six three. Her frame was small and physically weak when compared to the rest of those she traveled with, but it only added to her natural beauty. Like some svelte wildcat, her step was light and she was careful with the placement of her paws in a world that would take one look at her and decide she was a threat. She had found at times that she could use the natural beauty of her people, with their pointed ears and nose, almond shaped red eyes and high cheekbones to get by, seducing what she couldn't fight and moving on with her life. He almost felt sorry for her, in that regard. It was, after all, utterly boring to do the same thing repeatedly, and after a while of using sex as a weapon and a tool drained it of all the pleasure it was supposed to entail. Still, she had found her place, one where she was wanted and needed not for her looks, but for her prowess as a cleric of Shar. The Nightbringer, goddess of darkness and caverns beneath the surface of Faerun, who's powers had come in particularly handy in the mines of Nashkel, where they briefly crossed paths with...

Glancing at the ninth portrait, he fought the urge to shudder and sipped his coffee once more. Rich red robes, well groomed facial hair, shrewd eyes and a tendency to mutter to himself, the Thavian he had felt would have been the most dangerous and detrimental to the party. If -anyone- could have figured out what Ira was without her own bungled attempts to hide it, it would have been the brown haired Conjurer. They were familiar with both infernal and abyssal magics, and he was certain that Ira's almost ridiculous ability to sense personal danger was what had prompted her to avoid him. Still, the tall and slightly bulky human was now traveling with the fifth portrait as they made their way. He was ever so careful about how he scried on them. Thavians after all were an incredibly competitive and arrogant people, and if he was caught he didn't want to get summoned down and forced to give the game away. That Ira would very likely tear off one of his arms and beat him into the ground with it was also an unsavory truth should he misstep and be forced to work against her Pawn. The Thavian was also a sharp contrast to the thread that had most recently been woven into their path.

His eyes sought the tenth portrait, and here he frowned. neither good, nor evil, Xan the Enchanter was a Greycloak from Evereska, the famed valley and haven for the fair folk. The Greycloaks were investigators and law enforcers, so it had been very strange to have seen one, let alone catch wind of a group of them working to sort out the issue with the mines. Although, their greatest import -was- metal ore... Still, why they had included -Xan- in their expedition was a mystery. The elf appeared to always have been morose and prone to seeing the worst in every encounter he endured. Still, that in and of itself had very likely given the diminutive elf the strength to persevere in the face of the torture he had been subjected to by Mulahey, the half-orc cleric of Cyric. He had to admit, when he had first seen the scrawny mage through Ira's eyes he had thought that Xan wasn't going to make it.

But he did, and after an extensive bath and some greens the delicate looking elf with his fine bone structure and thin nose had come out of the experience stronger for it. Certainly, his hands still shook when they brushed his long, chestnut coloured hair but when they wrapped about the purple steel of the moonblade he carried, they were steadier than most others. No stranger to the blade, having had to wield the unit forged from a single piece of metal for a century had granted him a sense of familiarity with the weapon most sword masters could only dream of.

The eleventh portrait caught his focus there, and he had to laugh to himself as he recalled the sword master that had drifted like a tumbleweed across their path before being sent on to portraits six and seven. A Rashemi Berserker, bald, hulking and good-natured with dark eyes and dusky skin when he wasn't enraged and coated red with gore as he hacked through gnolls like so many weeds. The purple circle painted across his head had been a nice touch, as had the minuscule hamster that the brute carried. He didn't know much about him other than the fact that he was looking for his Witch, seeking to rescue her from gnolls and that he was touched in the head somehow. Be it trauma or some twist of fate at birth, he was amusingly simple-minded and would have made a good piece if Ira had decided to play her experience in her borrowed body like a game of chess. His kind face and laugh lines that webbed the corners of his eyes spoke of perhaps just a bit of a mischievous streak, and adding a Berserker to any situation could only improve it, in his opinion.

Finishing his coffee, he sent the cup back over to the counter and stretched fully, wings brushing against the ceiling as his tail curled and flexed before coiling around his leg. Ira was -fun- to watch through, and so long as she didn't realize that using his orb would allow him to do so, he was safe from mutilation. Worse, he thought, that she should find out that the chaotic nature of the energy was eroding her own lawful nature, for then she would make good on her promise of ensuring his existence became a living nightmare.

He had avoided his family thus far. But the risk, the gamble, was all part of the high that this dangerous experiment and pact was giving him.


	19. Best served quietly

Damion roused slowly, groaning and blinking groggily as he rolled and searched around for a pillow to smother himself with.

"Hey now, non've that."

"Head hurts…"

"Yeah, what important lesson did we learn about booze?" Ira reached over and nudged the archer. "Either sit up and drink this or I'm dumping it over your head."

He flinched, before slowly rolling onto his side to squint at the elf, reaching and accepting the glass of water she held out.

"Once you're done that, then we're heading out."

"Why…?"

"Very important stage of your training. Xzar's helping us today."

There was a quiet, giggle from the floor near the bed, and that if nothing else brought Damion to full consciousness.

"... What?"

"You'll see. C'mon."

"But Ira," He glanced at his drink, before peering at what he could see of Ira in the pre-dawn light oozing through the window. "I'm not done my drink."

"No longer care. My patience's almost gone. C'mon, up ya get Xzar. We talked about this." She turned and leaned down, waving before a second silhouette pushed itself up beside her and stretched, raking fingers through a vague nimbus of messy hair. "Alright, good, you're good to go?"

"I studied, mmmyess, all is prepared." The haughty drawl rolled out of the necromancer, and Damion had a sudden bad feeling about what he was getting himself into.

* * *

"Keep the bow up, Kid. Go go go!"

Ira idly picked at a patch of dry skin along her hand as she watched Damion run and wheeze, carrying his full gear as well as an extra backpack worn against his chest, struggling to keep the bow level with the target that hung from the tree next to her as Xzar cackled and chased him. The Necromancer's hands were lined with a faint, sickly green nimbus, and any time he got close to the archer he would lunge to try and tag him with the ghoul touch spell he had cast. As Damion fired off a shot, Ira leaned casually out to watch the arrow swish past the target and embed itself into a tree a short ways behind the target.

"Fail."

She glanced over before snorting, watching as Xzar pushed the paralyzed archer over and settled his hands on his hips, grinning proudly.

"Crit fail, you're dead. Good work, Xzar."

"I am become death, DESTROYER OF WORLDS!"

"Yes, yes. Whatever helps you sleep at night." She patted the air as the necromancer threw his arms into the air and clawed at the sky victoriously. "Damion, we've been doing this for about an hour now. We'll do it again around lunch, but for now, when that wears off, we'll head out proper-like."

"Darthiir, I have found this Larswood and Peldvale on the map."

"Thank's Viconia, let's see then." She watched as the drow stepped closer and held out the map, gesturing at two points and then at a third.

"These are the locations. This is where we are."

"Alright, so from what we can reasonably expect there's probably a lot of them. So we can -reasonably- expect to be outnumbered, and they're probably going to be tough too otherwise any hero with a sword and will to die for a noble cause would have taken them out by now."

"What is the plan then?"

"Play to our strengths. Hit and run tactics. Our goal is to whittle them away as quick as we can, to get into Baldur's gate, but with the group we've got we can't get too cocky, otherwise we're fucked."

Viconia nodded slowly, turning to survey the still prone and paralyzed archer and the necromancer who was using him as a stool.

"You are overestimating this group as it is, Darthiir. If we do this thing, we will die."

"Nah. You're underestimating my maneuverability and ability to be annoying."

The drow let out a short huff of a laugh, shaking her head.

"You attract arrows like a corpse does flies. Those woods are crawling with archers, you will be shot and killed."

Ira held her hands up, looking affronted as she canted her head to the side.

"Hey now, that's if they ambush -us-. I'm looking to ambush -them-. Can't shoot me if I'm on top've them."

"Did that work with the kobolds?"

"Yes."

"The bridge. The stone chamber. The path across the water." Viconia lifted a hand, counting off the instances she had dug arrows out of the elf, before shooting her a smug look.

"Alright, alright, -three- instances. But those were narrow corridors without room to do fuck all for dodging or zigzagging. -And- that half-orc bastard hit me with some freaky confusion mind magic, otherwise I'd've torn him apart."

"What is it you said? Ahh, yes. Whatever helps you to sleep at night."

"You Black Bitch." Ira snickered, before grinning and tucking her hands behind her head at the narrow-eyed glare the cleric sent her. "What. Like you believe for an instant that I don't know what Darthiir means."

"You speak the language of my people, then?"

"Mostly just the curses. I'm not much've a linguist." She shrugged and dropped her hands, turning towards where Damion was starting to twitch and work free of the paralysis. "You're right, though. But I'll have a lot more maneuverability and got some tricks up my sleeve that I didn't have then."

"Such as?" The drow rolled up the map, eyes flicking to the two males, one of which was helping the other up.

"Magician never reveals their secrets."

"Shar, give me strength…"

"Alright boys! Hope you're refreshed after that rest, 'cause it's time for more practice. Namely moving quietly."

* * *

It was almost unnerving, how Xzar was the loudest one in their group and even he moved quietly. Viconia was the second loudest, armor wrapped and stowed away in her pack and breezing across the grass with barely a whisper of sound. With Ira as the second quietest and him making the least noise of all, he was reminded of all the times he had snuck around Candlekeep with Imoen or shadowed his foster father. He could see, in his mind's eye, the tall elderly human with his wrinkled face and kind blue eyes. The soft, grey robes, the long white hair, the stories about the old faded scars on his hands that were only ever visible when he took off the fingerless gloves…

Damion could see again the hallway, not the first time he had followed the old man, but certainly not the last. Torches set on either side as the mage moved across the opening and headed to the end of the hall to watch out the window, looking down into the courtyard along the inner wall and then to the ring of buildings situated just inside the outer wall. He could hear the easy laughter and the call from Gorion to join him at the window. He could…

"There a reason you stopped to stare at this particular tree, Kid?"

The archer startled, flinching back a step as he snapped his gaze over to the elf and let out a sigh as she held up her hands.

"N… No, sorry. I was… Remembering things."

"That's nice and all, but think you could do it while walking? You don't gotta move silently, just quieter than Xzar. Surprisingly difficult, I know."

"I was remembering my foster father, Ira. Sorry I don't have your level of uncaring indifference when it comes to people in my past." Damion pushed past the blinking elf, leaving her bewildered as he caught up with the other two who were waiting a dozen or so feet away. "Come on, let's go."

"Hey Kid."

He turned slightly, mouth opening to retort. A mistake, he soon realized, as pain exploded across his face with the sound of her fist hitting the faceplate of his helmet. Staggering, he raised his hands to try and fend off a second blow that never came.

"One, what did I tell you about the next time you spat venom at me. Two, the fuck was that? Someone hits you unexpectedly you get your bow up and point an arrow at them, not drop it on the ground."

Damion shook where he stood, hands curling into fists as he met Ira's gaze.

_How dare she…_

"Three, I gave you fair warning."

_How -dare- she…?_

"Four, sit down. Viconia, keep watch and Xzar, get the knife away from my kidney before I plant it in your balls. I can understand why you're thinking about it, but I only have so much patience today."

The necromancer hummed softly, before stepping away and tucking the butter knife back up his sleeve. He peered between Ira and Damion for a long moment, before moving to the latter as the archer sat down and worked the helmet off of his head.

"Five, -remember- that feeling. Not the pain but the emotion that's put murder in your eyes. That feeling right there, that's gunna save your life some day." Ira slid down into a crouch, elbows rested on her knees as she tilted her head. "Now, we're going to -talk-. Because you're useless when you stick your head up your own arse, and this is -clearly- gunna be an issue going forward."

Xzar carefully turned the archer's face to one side and then the other, inspecting the damage done.

"... Unbroken, but bloodied. You pulled your punch."

"Ya think? C'mon Kid. Talk."

Damion gently waved the Necromancer away, before feeling at his nose gingerly. The flash of indignation and anger had passed, and he slouched where he sat.

"... I -miss- him. I don't even know anything about the world except what I've read in books and... He was supposed to -be- here, and I'm just… I'm just so lost…"

Ira closed her eyes, a look of pain crossing her features.

"Kid, you're killing me-"

"Ira~?" Xzar interjected, almost lazily turning his head towards her. "Youuu are an -elf-. You know not what it is like to be -human-, yes?"

She held up her hands, before pushing herself up and brushing her pants off.

"Go for it. I'll make sure the sunblind drow isn't getting ambushed."

The necromancer watched as she wandered off, before producing a cloth and offering it out.

"Use this. Damion, Damion, Damion…" He trailed off, before rocking back to plop down onto his rear and fluff his robes out around his legs so that he could fold them under the material. "...To miss somebody is… Normal. Natural, yes? Standard. Supremely stock and suddenly surprising to you, yes? No. This… This is something you have -suppressed- for such a seemingly endless time… How long have we been traveling, hmm?"

Damion blinked at the necromancer, borrowed handkerchief tucked up against his nose to try and stem the trickle of blood.

"...Few… Weeks? A month?"

"Yes. Ah-" Xzar held up a hand as the archer opened his mouth as if to speak. "Atatata~, hush little baby don't you cry~... Ehm, you come into the world as if fresh and innocent as a newborn babe, yes? Little Lamb, trying to act the mighty ram and then Bam! You get slammed…"

Xzar trailed off, before blinking and shaking his head, holding up his hands to continue to forestall any answer or interruption from the archer.

"Information is what will cure this ailment, yes? So you will drink this, your nose will heal and I will try to gather my thoughts, yes?" He produced a potion, and offered it out. "A moment only is all that I need, to gather myself to com-plete this deed."

Damion blinked blearily, before accepting the potion, still trying to digest the fact that -Xzar- was trying to help him through an emotional mire. Carefully, he sipped the potion and grimaced at the taste while the pain that radiated across his face eased. He watched the Necromancer as he started to gnaw on his nails.

"... The Sword Coast. The northwestern stretch of coastline from the northernmost mountains known as the Spine of the World all the way down to the forests of Velen, where the sea of swords meets the land. You hail from Candlekeep, yes? On the southern portion of this stretch, south of the port of Baldur's Gate and north of the port of Athkatla, Candlekeep sits atop the cliffs and serves as a temple of Oghma, god of knowledge as well as a repository of great tomes of histories as well as a plethora of other topics that they keep and maintain in the library that serves as the main focus of the halls." Xzar paused, before peering at the archer for a moment with pale green eyes. "... They are known for keeping out of conflicts, so it is not unusual that you would not know much of the political standing between the nations, yes? Amn, the country to the south in which we dipped across the borders to enter Nashkel, is preparing for war. Baldur's Gate prepares for War. This Iron Crisis has caused much damage to the flow of trade, and so I was sent with the wee little halfman to determine the cause. While war is -good- for business, it is -bad- when we do not have good weapons. Now, the civil unrest this has cause, is only exacerbated by the rise in banditry, which could have any number of reasons as to why it has become the new thing to -do-."

"Xzar-"

"Hssst! I am -focused-, allow me to indulge in this!" He cleared his throat, before steepling his fingers. "It could be due to the failure of the harvest, as farming equipment breaks and is replaced with sub-par quality metal goods that also break, and as such the yield is less than it should be. This leads to a lack of food and lack of funds in both directions, This could cause others in desperation to turn to crime, to try and -take- what funds they require by force or it could be a deliberate thing put into motion by recruitment and to weaken both moral and the forces of the local areas to make an invasion more likely to succeed-"

"Xzar, why are you doing this?"

The necromancer paused, faltering before peering towards the archer.

"... To distract, from the grief. I know the pain of the loss, though mine aws only alleviated by my faith and the follow through with a promise. They took her from me, and so I bled them on the alter of my Lord. This… is not an option for you. You have no alter to bleed them across, no home, only the sparse forests and plains north of the Cloud Peaks in line with Nashkel and south of Baldur's Gate. You are being honed into a weapon by an elf of dubious origin and travel with a necromancer and an elf of the underdark. There is nothing -normal- about this, no, but this does not mean that you are alone, that you suffer alone, that you -must- suffer alone. We three each have a reason to follow you, and-"

"Thank's, Xzar. This isn't… You went entirely off topic, but I do feel better."

"Good. Much hinges on you."

Damion tilted his head, blinking at the necromancer before frowning.

"Like what, then?"

"My sanity, for starters. My life. The Elf of the Underdark's life. Even the punchy nanny needs you hale and hearty, yes? Your Beloved Sister, Auntie and Unkie, these three also grieve for the same loss as you." Xzar idly picked at his nails, as if inspecting the uneven and torn edges for flaws or something other than dirt. "You do not have to let go. But you -do- have to move forward, yes? We are on the run. Work through your grief, do not be ashamed of it, but do not let others -see-. Rabbits can smell weakness, and if they know what parts of you are soft they will know where to stab."

"Is that what they did to you?" The archer frowned, before reaching out as the necromancer stiffened. "I'm… Sorry. I didn't mean…"

Xzar peered at him for a moment, before a giggle welled out of him and he raised his hands to his mouth. The sound grew until he was cackling and howling with laughter that abruptly stopped.

"Oh little _lamb_... It is what they will do to -you-."


	20. Best served sheltered

Damion stared at Xzar for a long moment, leaning back slightly before giving himself a slight shake.

"I… Understand."

"Damiondred Jetovski, heed me and listen, if it is even only just the once that you do this thing."

The archer froze at Xzar's words, staring in shock at the necromancer as he raised himself to his knees and reached out to put his dirt-smudged hands on either side of his face. His voice was a hushed murmur, and he leaned in to put his forehead against Damion's as his eyes gained an emerald vibrancy.

"I am a dead man walking, no matter what it is that you accomplish. It was no accident that we were in the same forest as you that day. When those of your blood speak, I -must- obey, if words are spoken with intent. But you… You are young, and soft, and easy. You would not kill me unless I put a shiv between your ribs. My life hangs by a thread, and if only to survive I would follow you if you could keep me thus. Hear what I cannot say. Use me as your tool. But if you seek to do thus you must become -stronger-."

"Wh-"

Xzar pressed a finger against his lips, quietly shushing him before drawing back and offering a hand out.

"We are losing daylight. We must run, Little Lamb, before the times catch us like the teeth of a trap."

* * *

Ira glanced over towards the two humans as they emerged from the underbrush pushing herself up and cracking her knuckles as she did.

"Viconia's about twenty or so paces further out. You two ready to go?"

"Ira, you told me in Nashkel that if I 'spat venom' at you again, that you would hit me." Damion studied the elf for a moment as she nodded and stretched.

"I did."

"And you said that if I'm ever going to survive, I need to strike fast, strike hard, and strike when the person isn't looking."

"I did." She brushed her hands off, head tilting as she smirked. Damion nodded slowly, maintaining eye contact for a moment longer before heading towards Viconia to go and collect her. Xzar clasped his hands behind his back and drew level with the brawler as she watched him go, leaning towards her and humming.

"How much of that did you overhear?"

"At sixty paces?"

The necromancer nodded, blinking owlishly at her.

"All of it."

"... Oh dear." Xzar leaned away, eyes narrowing. "Are you going to kill me?"

"Nah. You confirmed a theory I had and it doesn't change anything. I just have a better grasp on why you're sticking around him and what the armored arsehole's personality's like. Can you tell me more?"

"Hmm, no. I cannot."

Ira tisked, before spitting off to the side.

"Yeah, figured. Let's get a move on. You're basically blind at night and we've fallen behind where we should be."

* * *

"Much as I hate holing up in noticeable landmarks, that tower's probably the best bet. Good eye, Viconia."

Ira narrowed her eyes at what she could see of the the seemingly abandoned tower from between the trees, voice low. The humans were a few paces behind her, while the drow leaned against the tree across from her.

"Problem is, I hear something. We're too far for me to make out what, but it sounds like a voice."

"What range can you hear things at?"

"Entirely too many variables for me t'answer that Kid, but that tower's almost a hundred paces away and I'm getting only the faintest stuff over your breathing."

Damion briefly considered trying to put the arrow he had knocked to the bowstring between her shoulder blades, still irritated about the incident earlier in the day but decided against it when he realized it would likely only make her angry without actually putting her down.

"It's getting dark. Viconia will stay back with me and Xzar, and you'll flank around."

Ira glanced back towards the Archer, before snickering and nodding.

"Alright, Kid. Not the worst plan. Gimme a minute to get over there."

The archer nodded, before turning his gaze back to the structure as she slipped away. Viconia frowned, before looking towards him after a full minute had passed.

"Surfacer, do you think she has realized you have no intent to go out there and support her?"

"I think she sort of knew it before she even left. She's not an idiot, and she doesn't seem to be the type to be new to this sort of stuff." Damion eased to the side slightly, trying to get a look at the space past the tower. "Besides, she can handle herself, right?"

"You are worried about her." Viconia smirked, lips curling up at the corners as she watched the archer fidget.

"I… Am. You're right. But I'm also mad at her because she punched me in the face today because I dared to be sassy. So we'll give her a bit and then go in to save her if she needs saving."

"As you wish, Surfacer."

* * *

"So then I says to the guy, I says 'How in the Nine Hells did you get covered in vrock shit?' and get this, he just looked at me as if I'd betrayed him and shiv'd him myself-" Ira paused, glancing around the edge of the tower before tilting her head. "Ho, you're all late."

Damion eased out around the stonework, arrow knocked an bow slightly raised as he took in the situation.

"Ira? Everything alright?"

"Yeah. Baeloth, this is the Kid I was talking about. Kid, meet Baeloth Barrityl, drow sorcerer. He's been-"

"Baeloth the Entertainer! Go on, throw yourself to your knees and beg all you like, but I -don't- do autographs-"

"-Basically shat out of the underdark and stuck here for the time being. He's a bit've an ass but still, if half've what he says is true about himself, he might be useful." Ira scrubbed a hand across her face, watching in amusement as the robed drow hmpf'd and folded his arms.

"Clearly I command -some- of my powers. Even in this diminished state, I must remain one of the top five spellcasters in all the realms. If someone were to offer me martial protection, I'm sure I could be of great help to... Whatever it is you're doing."

Damion studied Baeloth for a moment before shaking his head.

"I think our group's big enough. Ira, if he's staying here, we should go and-."

"No! NO! NO, NO, NO! Don't LEAVE me here, you mornonic miscreant! Don't let me die at the hands of pale-skinned barbarians!"

Damion paused at the desperation in the sorcerer's voice, watching as Baeloth partially panted for breath and then drew himself up to try and act as if he hadn't just begged for help.

"... You have nowhere else to go?"

"... No."

"... Fine."

"YES! At last, some protection! Protection for YOU that is. I will join you, so that you can feel safe."

Ira snickered, and then jerked a thumb towards the tower.

"Go get the others, Kid. It's gunna rain in a few minutes."

* * *

They had room to spare in the tower, save for the fact that the roof was missing and all that was left for flooring above was better suited for anchor points for the tarps of their tents than any actual protection from the rain. The small fire pit in the center showed that this was not the first time people had used it as a shelter, and as they settled down the archer studied the new addition to their group intently. A second drow, that he couldn't help but try and contrast against their cleric who was sitting across the tower and watching Baeloth with as much intensity as he was and for likely vastly different reasons.

Certainly neither shy nor trying to hide, Baeloth's skin was a dark, almost navy blue tone where as Viconia's was a lighter shade. His white hair was straighter than the cleric's, swept back from his brow and otherwise left loose. His eyebrows were thicker than the archer would have expected, set above shrewd eyes and a beak of a nose. His robes appeared to be made of some sort of dark silk and billowed about his shorter frame as he moved.

"I hope you're satisfied. Look at my clothing! Caked-on mud everywhere!"

"Who are you talking to?"

"Eh? What do YOU want?"

Damion flinched at the sorcerer's tone and started to duck his head until he saw Ira across the tower from him, arms folded and tilting her head towards Baeloth.

"I... You were talking to yourself. So I wanted to know why."

"I'm not talking to myself, I'm talking to NAJIM!" The sorcerer shook his fist at the ground, before tossing his head and folding his arms. "He -dumped- me here, diminished, distraught and dangerously distanced from the darkness of my home."

"Well... While you're with us, I should..." Damion took a deep breath, before letting it out slowly. "We're looking for bandits in these woods, and we're going to kill them. Any gold gets put into a party fund that we draw from when we need to, and magic items get divied up based on who needs them the most. I want to know what you have so I can know what you might need. Clothing, a tent, supplies... Anything."

"What I NEED is to get back to the Black Pits. But I suppose whatever aid you can offer in the meantime will be adequate, if only just." Baeloth shook out his robes, trying to dislodge more of the mud as he tittered and sighed. "Utterly unrepentant, ungrateful swine!"

"... Al... Right I'll... Try and put something together." Damion leaned back slightly as the sorcerer continued to mutter and curse.

"Viconia said she's got first watch, Kid. After which, I've got the night." Ira stepped into his line of sight, and he glanced at her before nodding.

"You're... Not going to hit me again, are you?"

"Eh?" The brawler tilted her head. "Don't got a reason to. Sure you were -suspiciously- late in comin' 'round the tower, but I've got no punch-promises hanging over your head right now."

Damion nodded, relaxing marginally.

"... Good. Keep an eye on the sorcerer and Viconia, please? I don't know a lot about drow but I know she ran away from her home."

"Yeah yeah, get some sleep Kid. Long day coming up."


	21. Best served muddy

_Content warning. Implied cannibalism, accidental & on purpose_

* * *

Ira was a light sleeper at the best of times. Stuck in a twenty by twenty round stone building that amplified every little sound, including the rain drumming off of the tarps stretched above and then running down into the pit that had been dug in the center where the fire pit had been only made it worse. Still, practice and patience won out, and she while she never really slept meditation was the next best thing. It was a curious dichotomy between being able to rest through continuous, loud noises and remaining alert enough to defend herself at a moment's notice. As such, when Viconia started to shift across the tower while everyone else seemed to be more or less unconscious, Ira missed the sound of her steps over the sound of the rain but noticed the distinct smell of fear as it permeated the area.

One silver eye cracked open, and in the pitch black the world was an amusing mix of greys.

Viconia was leaned over the drow sorcerer as he lay prone where he had been feigning sleep, and they were flicking their fingers at each other. The way Baeloth was holding himself spoke of a concealed weapon, likely a dagger, but so long as he didn't draw it... Ira watched for a long moment as the cleric kept one hand on her mace, fingers otherwise continuing to flick and curl before she let out the faintest of breaths and moved to push herself up from her seated position. There was an art to moving quietly, and while she lacked the grace that most might have, the brawler was able to slink to the side, slip up behind Viconia, and then peer down at Baeloth from over her shoulder.

His eyes widened, and he went very still regardless of how Viconia flicked her fingers. Finally, she sucked in a breath as if to speak before Ira rumbled beside her ear.

"I -really- hope there's not a problem here."

The cleric's stillness was matched by the sorcerer's, though only one could see her.

"I'd really hate it if you woke the Kid up. He's got a lot of training ahead've him, and it'd be absolute butts for him if he had to wake up because someone fireballed the inside of the contained space because someone tried to club them with a mace. In fact, both've you, why don't we get some fresh air, yeah?" Reaching past Viconia, she snagged the sorcerer by the front of the robes and hauled him up, other hand clamping down around Viconia's forearm as she started to lead both out the door. One application of a foot later, and the door was open and she pushed them both outside and was able to turn to close the door behind the three of them. "Now then. The Kid asked me to make sure neither of you murdered the other. So you're gunna talk, out loud, and I'm gunna sit here and watch and listen."

"Or else what, hmm?" Baeloth pulled his hood up, trying to protect himself from the rain as best he could even as he folded his arms.

"There gotta be an or else? All the Kid wanted was that I stop you from murdering each other, not that I mediate every little dispute. But if you talk in common, I can at least get forewarning, and deck the first person who tries to make a move 'gainst the other, which plays to both've you's advantage." Ira leaned back against the tower, arms folded and watching both as she ignored the weather. "I don't care what either've you do with the other beyond how it factors into the coming fight, 'cause you both've been told there's one coming tomorrow."

"But... But don't you know who I -am-?"

"She does not care." Viconia gave the sorcerer a smug look from under her hood. "Do not worry, I only seek to learn where he hails from and his intentions."

"And I told you that I don't -care- about petty city disputes, disturbances or disruptions! I run the Black Pits, for pity's sake!" Baeloth threw up his hands. "No matter what House comes on top of what city, there are always slaves to buy."

"I do not trust you."

"Mutual, Miss Menacing, but must we meander through more mires and mountains of misleading manifestos? We both depend on these rivvil and the faerie for our safety." Baeloth jerked a thumb towards Ira and she let out a long suffering sigh. "Why would I damage or disregard the direct defensive demonstrations when it would only be detrimental? No, I think not! Not now, new nanny notwithstanding! -I- think you just want me under your -heel- like every male you must have met in Menzoberranzan!"

"You know -nothing- of me, let alone of what I did in Menzoberranzan!" The cleric drew herself up, glaring at the sorcerer through the rain, practically hissing at him. "You know -nothing- of what I endured, of what I went through to get out of there!"

"So it stands to reason that you both hate Menzoberranzan and the way things were run." Ira yawned widely, giving herself a slight shake to ineffectually shed some water. "I get that you both don't trust, but nobody's asking you to. All I think the Kid wants is for neither've you to stab the other, and considering you both aren't in the Underdark cities for the similar reasons - that being you both hate matrons and Lady Fuzzybutt, it seems - , why would you? Stab each other, that is."

Both drow stared at her for a long moment, and she held up her hands.

"Just sayin'. From my perspective both've you're wasting your time and effort on each other when there's a buttload of bandits I'd rather you blew up. They're even guaranteed t'be tryin' to kill you."

Baeloth and Viconia turned their stares to one another, remaining silent as the rain continued to soak them all.

* * *

Damion woke, and immediately had the feeling that something was wrong. One, there was no Ira waking him up. Two, he had -slept in-. Three, he smelled some form of meat cooking. These three things had him moving to sit up as he peered around, noting Xzar leaned over a fire and poking at strips of some kind of meat that were impaled on sticks. Viconia was a short way away, clutching her holy symbol in prayer as Baeloth tried in vain to swat at a small insect that buzzed nearby.

"... Where is Ira?"

"Punchy Nanny is out scouting. Breakfast?" Xzar turned and offered one of the strange kebabs out towards the archer, who looked queasy and shook his head.

"No, uhhh, no thank you. I'm... Not hungry yet, but thank you. When did it stop raining?"

"Oh, about an hour ago." The necromancer turned back to his work, starting to nibble on one of the strips of meat and humming cheerfully to himself. "Sssaid to let you sssleep, yesss... Sssaid to let you get your ressst..."

"I... Appreciate it?"

Xzar nodded absentmindedly, picking at some of the meat and murmuring under his breath in a sing-song tone.

"Tasty tasty Raaabbiiit~..."

Damion went slightly green, before nodding and pushing himself up to head outside.

"Rabbit you say? Riveting! Let me relieve you of some, rivvil..."

* * *

By the time Ira returned, everyone was up and ready to go, silent save for some idle chatter provided by Xzar and whoever would answer him. It was mostly Damion, as the other two were taking turns watching each other and watching the forest.

"Good, nobody's left and nobody's dead. I've got news."

"Bad news first." Damion shifted where he sat on a section of broken tower, bow across his lap.

"Al... Right. Well, we're outnumbered. There's at least two dozen gnolls, three dozen humanish people and four dozen hobgoblins. Most've the humanish ones are archers, though I saw a few wearing better than average armor. The three wearing vibrantly red robes, those are the ones that're troubling to me. It's Thavian red, though I didn't recognize any of them. Of the gnolls I think one're two seemed different than the others, but there's a mix of both archers and melee fighters among the hobs."

"So what you're saying is it's impossible."

"Those the words that came out've my mouth, or are those the words that you -wish- did." Ira gave Damion a rather pointed look, before he wilted slightly and she shook her head. Peering down, she started to sketch a rough outline of the camp. "After the rain, things won't really be dry enough to burn, but there's other options. Taking them out one by one, long ranged, distractions, there's all kindsa roads to take. 'Sides, we've got things they don't."

"Like what?" Viconia leaned slightly to study the circles carved into the mud.

"You. Him, him and him. And me. We'll split into teams. Xzar and you, Baeloth and the Kid, and me. You can give Xzar cover, and Baeloth can give the kid magical protection. Atata- Don't give me that look Xzar, I know you wanna go with the Kid, but 'tween your tendancy for close range stuff and Viconia's shield that's the best chance you've got."

"And why are you on your own?" Damion frowned at the brawler, and she quirked a brow in response.

"Look me in the eye and tell me any've you can keep up with me once I start running."

"I... Good point. But why Baeloth and I? Aren't you worried about...?"

The sorcerer put a hand to his chest, looking shocked.

"Attack you? -Me-? You wound me, rivvil! I may be many things, but survival in a land I know -nothing- about takes -teamwork-. And you lot are the closest I have to a team to work with."

"As he says," Ira snickered, shaking her head. "He needs us about as much as we need him. 'Sides, if he's half as good as he says he is, he'll have no trouble at all with the Thavians. Three casters against you,what say you to that, Entertainer? Well, you and bow-boy."

Baeloth froze, eyes darting around for a moment.

"Hah! Nah, don't worry, I'm counting on your resistance to magic to buy you the time you need to get out've there, and on the Kid to know to keep a bit more've a distance and put arrows into anything that comes against you. I've got the Thavians. You guys need to draw out the worst've the forces, though, hence the two-man teams, each one with someone who's got a good chance've not dying immediately if one've the Thavian's gets away from me." Ira stretched slightly, before exhaling. "Which r'minds me. Whatever you see, whatever you do, try and ignore me as best you can. Viconia, reserve one healing spell for me. I'm prob'ly gunna need it, and all I gotta do is survive this encounter to get to you. I don't need t'be pretty afterwards. But all in all, even saying all've that, this is all gunna come -after- the smart thing to do."

"Which... is...?" The archer looked back down at the rough map in the mud. "From what you were saying, I thought that was the plan."

"Well, that's step two and three. Step one is you practice your hit and run skills shooting into their camp and trying to take people out before running like hell, and anyone that comes out after you the rest've us pick off and scatter. And if the whole camp comes out, you stick to your two man teams, one goes east and one goes south. If hear an explosion, prob'ly safe to start coming back and re-engage."

"Boom?" Xzar peered up at her from where he had settled next to Damion, nibbling on a strip of meat.

"Xzar's right. I didn't think you could use magic." The archer frowned once more.

"I can't, no. Not that type, 'least. But I'm pretty sure the Thavian's can, and I'm gunna use'em to blow up their own camp. You guys gotta realize that this whole thing relies heavily on all've us being able to kill a ton of people very quickly, be able to piss'em off back and forth, and nobody getting their asses kicked right off the bat, right?"

"What if one of us gets captured?"

"Then you're fucked, Kid."


	22. Best served chained

The first casualty was always the plan.

Still, Ira had made preparations. The Kid knew to aim for under the edges of the tarps that were stretched over the huts because of the dry patchs he would find there, and was loaded with the fire arrows they had stripped from the kobolds. They had decided to name the teams, and he was one half of Long Range. Viconia and Xzar made up team Short Range, and Ira made up team Range. The general idea was that Damion would set fire to some of the tents, which probably worst case would more smoke and smolder more than actually burn, and draw out some of the forces. Depending on how many came out, it would warrant a mix of more arrows and either Baeloth laying down a fireball to buy them some time to retreat, or Viconia and Xzar would cross through and take out as many of the smaller groups that came out as they could. Wash, rinse, repeat, as Ira waited for the Thavian's to get involved. They were banking on the smoke obscuring the worst of the trees and limiting visibility , and so long as the wind didn't shift...

The first two arrows hit, and it wasn't long before a handful of people came out to try and put the fire out. Arrows answered their arrival, and before long they were cursing and turned to level bows of their own as one of their number fled back into the camp to get reinforcements and another went down, arrow in his chest. As they fired into the woods, they shouted and didn't seem to notice that Damion hadn't fired on them again for the first few moments, two of them eventually moving out to investigate and leaving the other two behind with their bows leveled. As they passed a threshold, a flicker of green slapped a hand across the torso of one and a mace swung out to hit the other.

Ira nodded in satisfaction to herself as one froze and the other turned, trying to backpedal away from Viconia and almost onto the waiting necromancer's dagger. Trusting that they could handle themselves for the time being, she turned and slipped away to circle further, skirting the edge of one of the huts and moving carefully even as she kept an eye out for any flashes of that unique red that would mark her targets. She caught sight of them a few minutes later as more of the camp headed south, the roar of fire as it expanded out in an explosion marking the first of Baeloth's fireballs going off. She had warned them to ration their spells as best they could, and was glad they seemed to be doing so.

The three red wizards continued south, scowling and surrounded by an assortment of hobgoblins and gnolls, and Ira came to the reluctant conclusion that she wasn't going to be able to separate them from the crowd. That left two options, retreat or test the waters. Exhaling slowly, she picked out the four archers - two hobgoblins, two humans - and mentally marked the human in full plate before setting aside the tree branch that served her as a rarely-used beater stick and pulled her shirt up to unwind the length of chain wound with cloth that she had coiled around her torso and hidden. Hefting it a few times, she nodded to herself and then closed her eyes, tucking back against the edge of the tent and beginning to count.

_One._

Her arms and legs bulged slightly, faint dark patterns forming under the skin. She could feel the point that the body would begin to tear, and exhaled slowly to control the alterations and keep them below the threshold that would rip the flesh and meat like wet paper.

_Two._

A dull pain radiated through her hands and feet, the nails thickening and darkening into sturdier claws that were more pronounced than when she had run through the forest to catch up with Damion and the Zhents, before the pain faded. She could feel the slight ridges of bone as they pressed against the skin along her neck before protruding, looking similar to the ridges of bone and horn that marked the difference between a dire beast and a regular one. Her jaw twinged slightly, before the sharper teeth settled.

_Three. She could hear them as they stepped past._

Opening her eyes, she whirled out, and the faint rattle of the chain was their only forewarning as she burst into the middle of the group.

* * *

Damion backpedaled and strafed to the side, covering Baeloth as the drow cursed and grasped at the arrow that was buried in his side. The sorcerer had thrown out four separate fireballs, waiting until the majority of the forces against them were clustered before starting to throw any offensive magic, trying to maximize the chances of hitting the greatest number of people. He turned slightly and leveled another arrow, catching a flash of green before realizing it was Xzar by how the older human was hissing out words.

"This way! Quick-like! Step where I step!"

Baeloth tucked the empty potion bottle away, nodding and starting to follow the necromancer as Damion stepped back out of cover and shot a pair of fire arrows into the figures following them. Viconia stepped in beside him, shield somewhat out so that she could offer him some measure of protection and guide him as he kept moving backwards. It was fortunate that she did, with how for every arrow he shot, six answered. He was already limping and bloody, a pair of broken off arrows sticking out of a shoulder where he hadn't been quite quick enough to dodge and making every knock and draw action painful. His armor had, for the most part, helped lessen the damage he was taking but it wasn't enough.

They weren't killing them fast enough. And the gnolls were gaining on them, singed and burned as they were. Fortunately, the sorcerer's spells had weakened most to the point where two or three arrows were enough to put them down. He tried to only take the shots he knew would hit, but still...

Missiles made of magic swerved around him, another addition from Baeloth, and took down the leading gnoll. The others immediately behind either stumbled over the corpse or hopped to continue with shouts from behind of 'Forward march!'. He grit his teeth and fired another arrow off as another gnoll got in close, flinching back as it lunged with a halberd.

It never made it, as the buried skull some dozen paces ahead of him that Xzar had planted rose out of the ground and exploded into shrapnel and negative energy with an utterly unholy shriek. He could barely make out what almost looked like tusks in the skull the moment before it did so, and was thankful he hadn't thought to ask what had happened to Mulahey's head before then. The sudden space he had between himself and the people following him was a blessing, and he used the sudden wariness of the rest of the bandits to his advantage to put arrows into two more until enough trees blocked any shots between them. He took the opportunity to turn around and keep better pace with the others, and the four of them fled through the woods south as a cohesive group. When they had traveled nearly fifteen minutes, they all slowed and took a moment to rest.

"Ira-"

"Hush, Surfacer." Viconia stepped over, somewhat out of breath as she started to carefully remove the arrows and pray. Damion winced and looked away, and Baeloth leaned heavily against a tree as he kept an eye out behind them.

"What happens now, without the woman? Where would we wander, wending our way through the world?"

"We're going back." Damion murmured a quiet word of thanks to the cleric, before looking towards the other two. "We have to get Ira out of there."

"Are you mad?" The sorcerer drew himself up, looking disgusted. "We are better off -without- her-"

An arrow thunked into the tree next to him, and Baeloth froze while staring wide-eyed at the archer as Damion turned to knock an arrow and fire it in response in the direction it had been shot from.

"I don't care if you stay here on your own. You don't have to come with me. But I'm going. Xzar, wanna help me kill more people?"

"Your voice is ambrosia~..."

* * *

Damion slipped through the woods, keeping an eye out as Xzar slinked through the shadows behind him. The necromancer was cradling a hastily cleaned skull and marking runes along the empty eye sockets. There was a second one in a sling, and he had warned that three was the maximum he could produce in a day. Two, because of the natural limitations of the strength of a magic user of his level, and an extra one because of his specialization in necromantic magic. It was easier to sneak back than it had been to slip away from the bandits, though that largely had to do with the sound of the fighting from within the camp itself. As they reached the edge of the burning camp, Damion paused and took in the scene as best he could through the crowd.

Two of the red wizards were dead, stretched out along the ground. One of them had what were recognizable as bandit arrows protruding from his body, while the other was propped up slightly by way of the spear she was impaled on. The third was unconscious on the ground in the middle of the ring of archers who were trying to shoot at...

He paused, jaw dropping slightly.

Ira whirled and spun, wielding a length of chain near the middle. It was staggered so that there was a long side and a short side, the former being used for offense and the shorter being used for defense, and she swept arrows out of the air even as she dropped under the swipe of a hammer wielded by a human in full plate and then came back up, circling around a small roofed podium that was enclosed on three sides with a low railing. She kept moving, and it took Damion a moment to realize what was different about how she did so.

Her movements were fluid and smooth, and she rolled easily from using the short end of the chain to lashing out with the longer end, swinging it so that it hit one of the supports for the podium's roof and hooked abruptly to the side, slamming across her pursuers helmeted face and then being hauled back so that the short end could flick up and knock an arrow just high enough that it missed a bony protrusion atop her shoulder. Shaking himself slightly, he drew back and looked to Xzar, nodding towards the crowd.

The necromancer followed his line of sight, grinned and lobbed the skull up as hard as he could, watching as it dropped down over the crowd. The resulting shriek and boom threw them all into disarray, and as he leveled the bow he took advantage of the chaos to fire arrows at the bandits that were ducking and running for cover. Most that had been affected by the ensorcelled skull stayed down, having already been weakened by Baeloth's magic, but as he leveled his bow again he realized that not all of them had been killed.

Two gnolls bore down on his position, and as he backpedaled a length of chain wrapped about the feet of one and hauled back to send the tall furred creature down hard onto its stomach and buying him enough time to get the bow back up and put a fire arrow into the other one's chest. Ira continued her spin, the short length of chain coming up and coiling around her arm as she raised it to catch the brunt of the blow as the hammer came down hard and was pushed to the side. She grunted, ignoring the way the blunt weapon pressed the chain into her arm hauled on the other end, pulling it free from the gnoll's leg and swiping it horizontally to catch the fighter across the torso with an almost bell-like tone and then jerking with the sudden impact of an arrow to her torso.

The standing gnoll swept downwards with its halberd, and the archer dove to the side to narrowly avoid it, raising the bow again and then changing targets as he heard a familiar rustle in the underbrush behind him to the one that was pushing itself back to its feet, leaving the other one in the capable hands of Viconia as she burst out of the underbrush and brought her mace across to beat it in the chest. Xzar slipped forward to grasp the face of the gnoll that was prone and recoiling from the arrow that had buried itself into its neck, sending lines of fire streaking through its fur before it fell back to the ground.

Another bell-like tone sounded nearby as Ira struck the fighter across the side once more, and as he staggered to the side she took the opportunity to adjust her grip and send the other end of the chain out to entangle the hammer, wrenching it from his grasp and ducking under another arrow. Damion eyed the remaining bandit across the way, and held a hand out before gritting his teeth. As the bandit collapsed, he felt a surge of strength, and turned back to where the cleric was holding her own against the gnoll. He went to raise the bow until something large and heavy slammed down against the gnoll's head, felling the beast and leaving Baeloth standing by a burning tent and holding his quarterstaff in both hands, teeth bared.

As he surveyed the area for any other foes, Damion re-oriented on Ira and the fighter as she kept his chained together hands to one side and hauled the helmet off with the other.

"You-"

Xzar's hands curled around his neck, and lines of frost spread outwards as the fighter went blue in the face and stiffened, collapsing with a quiet crunch of the nose breaking off against the ground as the necromancer let him go.


	23. Best served bloody

Everything -hurt-. Not unusual, all things considered, but as Ira let out a slow breath she gave herself a once-over to take stock of herself. Dried and fresh blood covered her, from both unintentional and deliberate protrusions. She tapped one of the ridges of bone along an arm, and rumbled quietly as she counted the arrows that had gotten through. Four, all but one broken off to allow for continued mobility, and a number of shallow cuts where an arrow had grazed her or had been unable to puncture through the tougher layer of hide her skin had thickened into. She was singed, sore from the barrages of magic missiles that had slammed into her (the only things that had really gotten through her defenses magically) and partially blind from the repeated flashes of dazzling colour and point-blank explosions.

She never thought she would have ever missed having that second layer of eyelids, but there she was, blinking away afterimages.

"... Ira? What... Happened to you?"

Oh yeah. The Kid.

"Uhh..." She turned slightly, head tilted to orient on him more with her hearing than with her sight, and coiled the chain around one of her arms. "Yeah, so there's more bandits still. Some're holed up in the big tent there, an' one've the little ones-"

"You're avoiding the question." Damion frowned at her, shifting closer to inspect the changes.

"Damn straight I am. We don't got time f'a lengthy explanation. All I'll say f'now is that it's deliberate. Which r'minds me, y'all missed a whole fuck ton've'em, though a good number're fleein' through th'woods." She waved him away, rumbling once more and turning to start towards the bigger tent. "Y'all're -shite- at followin' orders."

"Is your voice lower?"

"Lot've things're lower, Kid. My 'pinion've y'all's one've 'em."

* * *

The people inside the larger hut had the advantage. They had placed barrels and crates for cover, and watched the doorway expectantly. There were voices just outside and they held their positions, prepared to ambush whoever might be coming through. Thus, the careful slit cut into the back of the tent behind one of the chests went unnoticed, even when it was extended as it became clear that there was a chest in front of it. No, what got their attention was the skull that rolled up behind them, and most of them turned to try and figure out where it had come from until it rose into the air and let out a shriek, exploding in a wave of negative energy and shrapnel.

Still, they were hardened mercenaries. One was the leader of the Black Talon mercenaries, another a Hobgoblin elite, the third was a mage mercenary from Baldur's Gate and the fourth was the chieftain of the gnolls that had thrown in their lot with the bandit camp. Venkt was well protected from the magic of the blast with his own defensive enchantments and the barrel he had ducked around, while the gnoll and hobgoblin (Britik and Hakt respectively) both ate the brunt of the blast. Raemon was simply lucky, and made it over the barricade in time with barely a scratch before a monstrosity bolted through the tent flaps and slammed into him, bowling him through the wood and sending fragments of wood everywhere.

It was almost five and a half feet tall, held itself as if it was three feet wide, and protected by ridges of bone that protruded out through its skin. Half covered in drying blood, it had hit him with the force of a much larger creature and as he pushed himself up it seemed to ignore him in favour of the backpedaling mage. He watched as it lashed out with a chain that had been wound across one of its arms, and he felt a mild surge of panic as he tried to move and found his muscles had locked up. As a thin figure stepped around him and lowered her hood, he paled and struggled against the magic that held him.

"Do not worry, Rothé. It will be over quickly. You will not feel anything."

And then she smiled, and the dark-skinned elf lifted her mace and crushed his head.

* * *

"How long will you be like that?"

"D'pends'n how long I need t'be like this. Puttin' all the bits back -in- is gunna be th'fuckin' painful part."

Damion nodded as he finished picking the lock on the elven prisoner's shackles, stepping back and eyeing him critically as he rubbed his wrists and pushed himself to his feet.

"As payment for my freedom, allow me to share with you what I've learned." The black-clad elf peered at the two skulking by the entryway, at the green-clad human who was rifling through the pockets of the bodies and then towards the two who stood closest to him. "Tazok's been making regular visits to the Cloakwood, so that's where I'd start if I were you. There are some documents in that chest that might be worth taking a look at, too. Now go step on some toes, all right? And you can tell them Ender Sai sent you."

Ira and Damion shared a look, before the archer peered back towards where Ender Sai had previously been. He backed up a step, and muttered a sharp "Where'd he go?" before the brawler reached up and settled a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Scrambled out've th'tent by way've th'door Xzar made. Don' worry 'bout it. Best bet we got is finish looting this place'n fuck off. Make sure t'check for nasty s'prises, Kid. I'll step out'n keep watch."

Damion nodded, relaxing slightly and starting to head over to the chests.

* * *

They camped about an hour out, exhausted and sore. Ira limped away, muttering under her breath about wanting to be left alone for a little bit before she dragged herself back, pale and sweating, the lack of ridges and other alterations that had occurred during the conflict marked by streaks of fresh blood. As she settled down heavily, she looked to Viconia.

"'Member that one healing spell I asked you t'save?"

The cleric sighed slowly, before pushing herself up and heading over to expend the last of her healing magic, the worst of the external lacerations from where the ridges had broken the skin closing and leaving swaths of bruising behind.

"Thank's."

"I don't think we should stay here too long. Just enough to catch a little bit of sleep, but then we should head to the Friendly Arm Inn as quickly as we can. It's going to take a few days for us to completely recover, and I don't think we should spend those outside where we can get ambushed." Damion peered at the group, noting how even Baeloth was stretching out on the ground with a groan of relief.

"Good idea, Kid."

"Ira?"

The brawler grunted, cracking an eye open to peer over at the archer. Damion studied her, looking cautious.

"Say that again, please?"

"Said 'Good Idea, Kid'."

He nodded, a small smile crossing his features.

* * *

It was fortunate that they decided to only stay in place through the evening, just long enough for the drow to rest and regain their spells, and for Ira to get enough meditation that she could sort of function. Damion and Xzar had stayed up, knowing that there wasn't a whole lot they would get for the rest and keeping watch. As the party roused and finished their short rest, Ira glanced over and pushed herself up.

"Look, I dunno -who- you are, but I'm having a -really- bad day. Either fuck off, or come out an' say hello like a person and not a bandit."

There was no answer, and Damion eased an arrow against the string of his bow.

"... Ira?"

"Someone pussy-footing through the underbrush. Yeah, I can -hear- you." She draped the length of chain over her shoulders, hands resting on the metal links as she gave the woods a narrow-eyed stare. "Well fuck you too. I'm a lotta things, but disgrace isn't high on that list. Be thankful I don't go over there and break your teeth for that."

Tilting her head, she snorted.

"'Cause you were at the camp too. Don't think I didn't notice you putting arrows into gnolls from th'other side, arschlock."

There was a moment of tense silence, before she shook her head.

"There he go."

"Where was he? I didn't see or hear anything." Damion shifted to peer in the direction Ira had been looking from where she had been standing as she stepped aside.

"Yeah, well you prob'ly wouldn't hear him if he walked up behind you. -Very- light on his feet, I heard the bow first, not him. He had an arrow on the camp." She peered at the others, before looking towards Damion. "Well? We're 'bout as rested as we're gunna get. We moving out or what."

* * *

The sun was peeking over the horizon by the time they were close enough to see the Friendly Arm Inn. Xzar had to be led around as they traveled as carefully as they could through the dark forest, and it was only a stern word from the archer that kept him from shrieking about being touched. Even so, he seemed to almost unnaturally vibrate as he moved, keeping as close as he dared to Damion as the archer kept a grip on his sleeve. They circled around the building, pausing just out of sight of the gate where hoods went up and makeup was applied before continuing on. Damion did the talking at the gate, and they limped in and headed for the keep proper where they rented a room. Two rooms, at the request of Baeloth, who 'would not sleep in a pile of people like some barbarian', and it was agreed that he, Xzar and Damion would share one while Viconia and Ira bunked in the other. Baths were requested, and as both drow got clean everyone else seemed content to stretch out either on the floor of their respective rooms or on one of the beds.

Damion was the only one of those who slept who did so without rest.

* * *

"Da-Mi-On~?"

The archer sat up abruptly, sucking in a breath as his hand flew up to clutch at his chest. He sat there, shaking and blinking in the candlelight as Xzar leaned forward.

"Glorious Leader, thou are chilled such as the grave. Thou survives, yes?"

"Xzar? I... Yeah, I'm... Fine." He relaxed slowly, giving the necromancer a weak smile.

"Good! Good, yes, yesss... A fresh bath and hot food await you, yes? Also, preseeennntsss~!" Xzar grinned brightly, before flouncing back and adjusting the screen to allow Damion to have privacy if he wished. Baeloth was laying on the other bed, a pillow over his head as he muttered thickly. "Wash, washywash~! Then food, omnomnom, yes yes yes..."

"Did... You arrange for this, Xzar?" Damion peered blearily at the bath, and then at the plate of what appeared to be roast beef, gravy and mashed potatos.

The necromancer paused, humming and swaying before turning to blink at the archer.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Xzar blinked owlishly around the room, baffled that he was being asked.

"Why? Why do butterflies fly? Do their wings, if flapped over the Moonsea, produce storms across the Sword Coast? For being colourful, they certainly are -not- tasty..." He frowned, lifting his thumb to his lips and starting to gnaw on his nails.

"That's- Alright, well, thank you." He offered the necromancer another weak smile, before pushing himself off the bed and wincing at how sore he was. "... I... Yeah, a bath is... Definitely a good idea."

* * *

A little more than half an hour later, and both Ira and Viconia were sitting in the room watching Damion finish his meal. Xzar sat nearby, fidgeting with some of what they had looted from the bandit camp and the bodies of those they had killed, and every now and then hummed a discordant set of notes as if attempting to remember how a song went.

"Alright, so what've we got. Good call with bringin' only the magic shit. Otherwise would've been too heavy."

"Xzar also picked up as many of the arrows as he could. I won't have to buy any." Damion set his plate aside, starting to look over the assorted goods. "So we have... A set of fullplate, gauntlets, a bow, two dozen arrows, a bunch of potions, a robe, some scrolls, a spellbook, two shields, shortsword, wand, and a hammer. Which... Reminds me..."

"These are what the potions are~! I checked." The necromancer nodded and offered out a scrap of parchment with an uneven list of the potions, before beaming at the slight smile that Damion sent his way.

"Ah-... Thank you-"

"Aaand listed all the scrolls!" Xzar handed him another list, and beamed once more as the archer smiled sheepishly.

"Thank you, Xzar. You're being... Really helpful."

The necromancer bowed low where he sat, forehead on the ground, sibilant words gushing out of him.

"I live to ssserve~..."

"So, between the spellbooks-" Damion went almost cross-eyed as a book was shoved into his face.

"Presend~! I worgeded on id, yus yus yus! Word is, you know a ding, maybe even -do- aboud magig, bud widoud a boog are nod gunna ged mahou-"

"He's saying he put together a book for you, 'cause I mentioned you used to dick 'round with magic an' didn't have a book anymore, Kid." Ira yawned widely, stretching. "Fuckin' too early for gibberish..."

Xzar shifted where he sat like a child that had been scolded, staring at the ground with his shoulders hunched and his head bowed.

"I... Well, uhh... Wow. Thank-uhh, thank you, Xzar." He watched the necromancer for a moment as the older male shifted and fidgeted and finally nodded shyly, peering through his messy hair as it fell over his face. "So, we need to find somewhere to get these identified-"

"'Mean, 'sides from a few, I know roughly what most've these do." Ira leaned forward, yawning once more before rolling a shoulder with a muttered 'ow'. "So, I dunno 'bout the arrows, but the shields and the hammer're low-level enchantments. Just makes them a little bit better at their jobs. Xzar, how'd you pick out only magic items, 'cept for the fullplate?"

"Magic weighs half." He stretched and flopped back on the floor, adjusting his robes over his still folded legs. Ira blinked at him, before laughing and tossing her head back.

"Well damn. I never thought've that. So, continuing on, shortsword's got the same enchantment on it - just enough t'keep the edge sharper than normal. The bow, I dunno what it's got on it, but I can tell it's fuckin' potent. Probably the best magic item in that pile. The gauntlets'd be about a step above the robes. That one, I know not 'cause've any sort of senses, but I recognize the pattern. It's a resistance robe, from the colour prob'ly fire. Electricity ones're yellow where this one's orange."

"So that... Leaves the arrows, the gauntlets, the bow and the wand." Damion frowned down at the pile before Baeloth plucked the wand out.

"This... Is a wand of Horror. I'm surprised the rivil didn't pick it up. He seems the type, with his exploding skulls." The sorcerer gave the wand an experimental twirl, before reluctantly setting it back down.

"Alright, so let's divide this up by who needs it. Doesn't make sense to otherwise, right? Xzar gets the robes, you get the wand, Viconia gets the hammer and the armor if she can use it, I'll get the bow." Damion shifted the items about to the respective people they would work best with. Viconia poked the armor unenthusiastically.

"This is too heavy and too big for me, Jabbuk. But the hammer, I will use."

"You should take the shortsword too, Kid. Might need it if anything closes the distance." Ira pushed the blade across to him, and the archer picked it up to grimace.

"You... You sure? You haven't gotten anything."

"Bullshit I haven't. Snagged most've the potions. Namely firebreath, fortitude, healing and magic resistance. I figured you and Xzar're splitting the scrolls, since Baeloth's so powerful he doesn't need'em." She ignored the withering glare the sorcerer sent her way, waving a hand through the air. "Speaking of, though, I'm pretty sure identify was one've the spells in Tranzig's book. Given time, you could probably identify these with a little effort."

"I thought... You wanted me use the bow, not magic."

"Nah. Magic'll give you a little bit've an unexpected edge. I'd pick your spells carefully, though. Can't cast with your armor on."

Damion nodded, frowning and trying to figure out where he was going to fit in magic practice around his schedule.


	24. Best served red in the face

They ended up spending only a day at the Friendly Arm Inn. Long enough for Viconia to administer more magical healing, rest, and then spend a few hours pampering herself and relaxing. A full hour was spent practicing with the makeup that Ira had acquired for her, and by the time it was done she felt competent enough that she not only could pass as a darthiir, but she also looked -damn- fine while doing it. Better than they usually do.

She contemplated the bottle of hair dye, eyeing it up and down before sighing and looking over at the floor that Ira had curiously vanished from and collecting her cloak. A few steps out with the hood up brought her to the 'boys' room, and she knocked on the door. It cracked open a moment later, and she narrowed her eyes at the bit of mirror that was poked out to allow whoever was hiding behind the door to see that it was her.

"Madman."

"Dark Lady."

"Is Ira hiding within your room?"

Xzar's reflection squinted thoughtfully before turning as he studied the inside of the room.

"Mmmno. Whyfor?"

"It is nothing." Viconia turned to go before a hand caught the edge of her cloak.

"I am -bored-." Xzar's voice was a quiet, distressed whine. "Dami said 'do not leave the room'."

The drow eyed Xzar for a long moment, before sighing and moving to push the door open enough that she could slip in. Some help was better than no help, after all. Inside, she saw Baeloth reclining on one of the beds and casually eating from a fruit tray as he read a book, though he glanced over as the door was closed behind her.

"What do YOU want."

She smiled sweetly at the necromancer, ignoring the sorcerer and holding the bottle out towards Xzar.

"Madman, have you ever coloured your hair?"

* * *

Ira sat atop the wall, watching the world turn. She was still sore, but the worst of the aches had faded. Her muscles twinged only when she twisted or moved in certain ways, and she felt it was warranted. The sections of skin that had torn to allow the ridges to break through had scarred, and she absentmindedly trailed her fingers across some of them. They had loosely matched the ridges and plates she possessed in the past, and as she lifted her chin to better catch the updraft along the side of the keep, she found the thing she missed the most was the ability to fly. Her tail came a close second, though only marginally over being larger, stronger, faster, in all ways -better- than the soft, tiny form she was stuck in for the time being.

Okay, so she missed a -lot- of things about her original form.

The spikes, the ridges, the sheer power that came inherent with the form of the cornugon... Only a decade ago she had been an osyluth, and she hadn't yet felt that she had fully mastered the new form she had been elevated to before the Sensate had waylaid her in Sigil. She had been looking for flying experiences had found not only what she sought, but also...

_The incubus wore a red cloth across his eyes, the sheer material not quite hiding his overly large red eyes. He was albino-white otherwise, as if carved from marble, the colour abruptly altering to red where his wings and tail sprouted. Six foot tall, his long hair was brushed back from his face and left to cascade down between his wings. He was designed to be some mortals incarnation of intoxicatingly good looking, a dichotomy of thin and muscled, and she found it mildly irritating that he chose to wear a loincloth and nothing else._

_"Welcome to the Society of Sensation, Baatezu." Tenterni bowed low, deliberately showing his neck as if to both say 'I am incapable of harming you' and to say 'You cannot harm me here in my weakness' before straightening and steepling his hands in front of his stomach. "What can we offer an esteemed one such as yourself today?"_

_She found his presence only grew more irritating as time went on and he gave her a tour of the place. He was stalling, she felt, denying her the tools she required to be more effective against his brethren in the Blood War. Still, she kept patient, knowing that this was a test of her patience, and she was damn well going to outlast a tanar'ri._

_"... And here we are, this is the room you have been waiting for, Great One. I apologize for the delay, as it took my coworkers some time to find the right sensory stone. I hope you found the building to your liking. I will be here should you require anything further." With that, the incubus bowed low, wings partially flaring and flattening down to the sides, before he drew himself back up and took up watch next to the door much the same as other Sensates seemed to be doing beside doors further down the hall. Inreagira eyed him for a long moment, before stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. She expected to be attacked, regardless of the advice and orders of her superiors, and thus coiled her chain about her forearms, wrapped her wings about herself, rumbled out a minor subtle spell and then reached out to grasp the orb that sat in front of her on the pedestal._

_The next thing she knew, she was flying, and an hour later as she 'touched down' she came to her senses in the room the sensate had left her in and gave herself a shake. Nothing was amiss, so she dismissed her spell and then moved to the door. The incubus was still there, in fact he seemed to have sat down and started a game of cards with himself, and as he glanced up at her he gathered up the cards and moved to stand._

_"Ah! Great one! You have emerged! I am glad, I know that stone is a lengthy experience but I was beginning to worry. I will guide you to the desk, where you settled the matter of payment earlier, and then I must attend other duties."_

_She grunted, and followed him as he smoothly swayed his way down the hall._

The brawler swung her feet as they dangled over the edge of the roof, and grimaced. She -still- didn't like him, but he was proving useful. Ish. For now, at least. For all that he was a magic user he wasn't particularly strong, and they had both made pointed comments about what would happen if one betrayed another. Which was fair, in her opinion, aside from the fact that she felt she could squash him like a bug.

Tenterni likely thought the same thing about her.

An odd, shrill shriek of a sound caught her attention, and she peered around quizzically to try and get a point of reference for where the brief sound had come from. Northish, at her best guess, and her eyes narrowed as she headed out that way.

* * *

Damion backpedaled quickly, saving the breath he would have been using to curse so that he could run better. When he had first caught sight of the hobgoblins, he had thought there was only two of them. Two, he thought he could handle, and had put enough arrows in the first one to put it down before the second had started to close the gap. It was only after he moved aside and dropped hastily under the arrow shot by another one that he realized he had rather seriously miscalculated.

Five left, two with bows, three chasing him through the woods and trying to circle around to pin him against the wall. He took the shots he felt he could take, but they were few and far between, and he hadn't made as much distance as he would have liked. He wasn't a very religious person, but he prayed that Ira was anywhere within what could have been considered earshot for her and put his fingers to his lips to whistle as loudly and as shrilly as he could again. The hobgoblins already knew where he was, so he didn't see the harm in it and he was running out of space between the road and the wall at an alarmingly rapid pace.

"When they say kids do th' damnest things-" One of the hobgoblins with a sword grunted, twisted and then jerked as his feet were pulled out from under him by a length of chain. Ira stomped down on his throat as he tried to get up, giving the Archer an almost bored once over for injuries. "-sure they usually mean 'go an' get themselves killed' but with fewer hobgoblins involved, yeah?"

"Archers-!"

"Do I -look- like I got a fifty foot reach with a twelve foot chain? Go on, Bow-Boy." The short end of the chain spun almost lazily as she stepped closer, and the two hobgoblins spread to try and flank her as Damion bolted past. "C'mon then, you two. Let's make sure I didn't break anythin' going down the wall, yeah?"

* * *

"My ring!" Joia clutched it in her hands, smiling thankfully and looking over at the two who stood in the doorway. One looked rather less impressed than the other, but she wouldn't hold it against them. "My father gave this to me, it's... All I have left of him. Thank you...!" She stepped forward, hugging the dark haired human and giving him a kiss on the cheek as he froze before picking up her bag and heading out with a spring in her step. It was only after she was out of earshot that the elf burst out laughing in an utterly discordant cackle, holding her sides and leaning against the side of the building.

* * *

"-And th'kid just -froze-, like a cat what got startled by somethin' fallen off a shelf!" Ira grinned crookedly, leaned back against the wall as she sat on the floor, legs stretched out before her. She hurt, but had avoided any major injuries while Damion had finished off the archers. He sulked on his bed, sitting cross-legged as he studied the book Xzar had put together for him.

"... Did not..."

"The hell you didn't. You fuckin' -did- you little-" The elf snorted, shaking her head, before looking back over to Baeloth who was stretched out on his stomach on the other bed, chin propped up on his hands. Viconia and Xzar sat behind the privacy screen, and the female drow chuckled.

"We need to find him a -woman-. Or a man. Anything, really, so long as it's not an animal. Nobody should be without the proper experience. Why, you could even say he is lacking a life lesson, listless and lost!" Baeloth grinned cheekily over towards the Archer, who held the book up higher as if he could hide behind it, trying to obscure how red his face had become.

"T'be -fair-, and I really gotta be in this situation, sex and attraction are just distractions. They don't serve any purpose 'side from earning you a weakness and someone who's got a better chance of putting a shiv between your ribs when you sleep." Ira folded her hands, tucking them behind her head as she did while her eyes wandered the room idly. "But damn if it wasn't fuckin' hilarious."

"In this, you are wrong. It is an entirely normal need, Jabbuk, you should not be ashamed." Viconia kept her eyes mostly closed as Xzar hummed and continued washing out the excess black dye from her hair. "When I was in Menzoberranzan, I had many males who were there only to please me."

Baeloth rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Can we -please- talk about something else?" Damion peered over the book, red to the tips of his ears as he glanced around. "Anything else?"

"Alright, Baldur's gate's still not open, we've all looked over the documents, and they point t'wards the Cloakwood. Bandit problem's still around, if less now, the ore problem's been resolvedish with how the Nashkel mine's putting out good metal again. So what's our next step? Kill this Davaeorn guy?"

"Do we have any way to get into Baldur's gate?" Damion set the book down, frowning. "Ira, how did you get out of the city?"

"Lept off the dock, swam south." She shrugged. "Was following the boat, so I had to do some swimming."

"... Xzar? Do you know any ways into the city?" The archer looked towards the screen, perking up slightly as he noted the two behind it were moving. The necromancer was quiet for a long moment as he wrapped Viconia's hair in a towel, and the two of them stepped around so that Xzar could sit on the floor as he gnawed on his thumbnail.

"... No. Momma Monty handled all this'n'that."

"Then we got no leads for that. Our options're fuck over the cloakwood operations or fuck off and hope we don't get caught up to 'till we're ready to come back and smear the armored arsehole across the side of a building." Ira leaned forward, stretching and reaching to tap her toes and grimace.

"... Then... I guess that's what we'll do. Go into the Cloakwood, that i-"

Ira held up a hand abruptly, head turning as she focused on the door. Everyone in the room looked at her, with varying degrees of confusion and concern. The brawler slipped to her feet quietly, before moving and staring at the door with her head tilted, listening. A few minutes later and she turned back to the group, voice low.

"Two familiar voices, two unfamiliar. Heavy armor, thick boots. One dwarf, one likely human, one soft-stepping familiar human in robes and one very familiar very soft-stepping halfling."

Damion felt faint as the blood drained from his face.


	25. Best served with magic

_Content warning: Baeloth's stats are 10 str/19 dex/15 con/20 int/9 wis/17 cha._

* * *

They left the inn immediately through a variety of methods as soon as it was dark.

Viconia and Baeloth, both wearing makeup, left by the main door to make sure they had paid the innkeeper on the way out. Xzar stepped out of the window and drifted down as slowly as Damion climbed down the wall after Ira, trying to use the handholds and footholds she pointed out. They made it down, and met up with the others just outside the wall.

"Well?" Damion watched Viconia as she pulled her hood back and pursed her lips.

"Yes, it was the half-man. There was a human in gaudy red robes as well, as you said, and a dwarf. There was also a female human with a purple diamond painted over one eye, large, two handed sword strapped to her back. They were speaking with a dark-garbed half-orc, also using a large two handed sword." She folded her arms as Baeloth stepped up and held his hands out as he shared what he had learned.

"I got closer than she did - what with the woman being the one which was liable to be recognized, of course - and did a little eavesdropping. They were hiring the half-orc to help in a hunt."

Damion looked towards Xzar as the necromancer, seemed to almost deflate.

"... So, five of them, five of us. One mage, one assassin, three fighters?" Ira looked to the drow to confirm, and they both nodded. "Right, whereas we've got two mages-"

"-I- am a -sorcerer-, darthiir, please do get it ri-"

"Two casters," Ira continued calmly as Baeloth shrank away from her a step under the weight of the unspoken promise her expression held as Viconia snickered and grinned at the male. "One cleric, an archer and me. All in all we've got a nicer spread, but we're still recovering from the bandit camp and close-quarters do -not- favour us. We dunno how long they'll be staying but it's safe to say it'll at least be the night. So we either wait and ambush them, or we leave now for the Cloakwood. Kid?"

"Well, before you break Baeloth's nose, I think we should start for the Cloakwood."

"Did I break yours?"

Damion hesitated, before shaking his head.

"Then have a little faith. I'd bloody it. Breaking's for repeat offenders."

* * *

They passed many things in the woods as they carefully made their way. It was slow going, as Viconia was the only one who could remove poisons before they killed people, and the Cloakwood was full of spiders and ettercaps. They rested frequently, and Damion grew frustrated with their lack of progress quickly.

"I -could- just turn us all invisible, but-"

The archer rounded on Baeloth, staring the drow down with a glare that made Ira have to turn her head and stifle a snicker.

"You let us fight through no -fewer- than eight hobgoblins, a bear, twelve giant spiders and four ettercaps, and could have turned us invisible _this whole time_?"

The sorcerer raised his hands, waving them as if it would help ward off the ill will directed his way.

"Well, yes! BUT! But, here me out, spiders have tremorsense, yes? What good would it do in a forest of spiders?"

"Everyone but Xzar can prob'ly walk light enough if Viconia took her armor off." Ira eyed the necromancer, before flexing her fingers. "And him? I can prob'ly carry no problem and still step light-like."

"I don't see what tremorsense has to do with the bear or the hobgoblins, Baeloth."

"Yes, well... I can do it now?" The sorcerer smiled meekly, still holding up his hands as Damion closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose before the archer shook his head and set the matter aside.

"Step one, then. We get some rope and tie ourselves to it. Otherwise we'll be bumping into each other."

Xzar side-eyed Ira, looked to Damion, and then whimpered as he hugged himself.

* * *

Travel went faster after that. Invisibility lasted roughly twenty four hours, as best they could guess, and so long as they were careful and watched where they were going it wasn't that difficult to avoid any monsters they encountered by a wide margin. No, the most difficult part was the necromancer himself. Ira carried him over a shoulders, and he twitched and fidgeted as if his skin was crawling, even with Damion telling him to settle down.

Still, by the time they were ready to camp for the night they had covered more ground than they had expected. It was almost unreal, hearing people moving around and seeing things happen without seeing the people performing the tasks. The fire lit itself, tents were erected, and... There was a low rumble.

"Baeloth."

"... Iii thought you were Viconia?"

"Figured as much." Ira snorted, sounding amused. "Mind getting your hand off my arse?"

"I was tempted to, but you have a very nicely firm- Ow, owowow, removing my hand!"

Ira snickered.

"Damion? Where -are- you, I need to speak with you, and that's twice I've found the wrong person." The sorcerer's voice sounded mildly annoyed, footsteps shuffling through the camp.

"I'm at the fire."

"Can we go between the two white trees there and keep walking for a bit? I need to talk to you. Alone."

"Two white-? Oh. Uhh, let me just..." Something rustled for a moment, and Baeloth followed the sound of the footsteps as they made their way to the trees. "Yeah, alright. Come on, I guess."

They moved a fair distance away from the camp, before Baeloth appeared with the thunk of his dagger into a nearby tree. He folded his arms, waiting, and after a moment's hesitation an arrow thunked into a tree as well, Damion materializing as it did.

"So what did you-?"

The sorcerer held up a finger, before flicking his fingers and sending a faint shimmer through the air.

"... There. That ought to keep that incredibly irritating individual's incessant hearing at bay. Now, I don't know -what- is going on, but I'm not an -idiot-. You travel with a necromancer, a half-baked devil, and a priestess of Shar that Menzoberranzan shat out. You're not a party altruistically adventuring and attending altercations, attempting to adjust them advantageously. You are being -groomed-. You, specifically. I want to know what -for-. There is an unspoken arrangement that has put me at the bottom of the pile, and while I admit I've been here the least, keeping me in the dark as I while away my time and regain my strength works against you in the long run."

Damion opened his mouth as if to respond, looking uneasy before Baeloth barreled on.

"You are set up to look like the -leader-, but you don't really -lead- now do you. Oh, they make it -look- like your decisions matter, but the fake monk is really just herding you like the sheep you-" Baeloth stiffened, and his robes pressed down on either of his shoulders with the imprint of hands.

"What arrre we doing?" Xzar's voice purred over the sorcerer's shoulder, the imprints shifting slightly as if he was giving Baeloth a massage. "We're not _kiiilling_ people, are we?"

"You have to understand what it looked like, Baeloth. You asked me to follow you into the woods, invisible." Damion smiled sheepishly, before leaning back against a tree. "Xzar, come here. It's alright. There's not... Really anything that I'd say that I wouldn't say in front of the others anyways."

The indents in the sorcerer's robes faded before he readjusted his sleeves and folded his arms, watching the archer as he scrubbed a hand across his face.

"... Everything you've said is true. We're not a band of adventurers trying to make the world right, and I -am- being groomed. There's this... Armored man, that killed my father as we left our home. I ran, and Ira found me after the fact. She wants to kill him too, though I'm not... Entirely certain why. I never really thought to ask, though she said he killed someone important to her when we met. Xzar... He was supposed to check out the iron crisis in the area, which we did, and then he had a-a falling out with the halfling he traveled with who is trying to get him killed. So he's sticking around because there's safety in numbers. They're both trying to help me get stronger so that we can all go and kill the armored man. Viconia we sort of stumbled across, and..." Damion frowned, shaking his head. "... I know what it's like not to have a home to go back to. So I wanted to help her. Same reason why I'm helping you, really."

"And -why- are you specifically the hinge-pin they're trying to oil?" There was less hostility in the drows voice, more curiosity and bafflement as he quirked a brow.

"Because... Well, he wants me dead. And we don't really know why. So I'm basically bait that needs to be able to at least sort of hold my own. He's really powerful, from what we can tell, so we need to... Well, get really powerful ourselves. And I'm so far behind them that they both need to help me. Viconia too, though mostly she just keeps a shield between me and the people trying to kill me..." He smiled slightly, sheepishly, and watched as Baeloth nodded slowly.

"Do you think he killed whoever stuffed the cornugon into that elf's body? Though I don't see why one would consider anyone who could do that as -important-..."

* * *

"Ira?"

The elf looked up from where she was poking the fire, head tilting as she heard Xzar shift protectively closer to the visible archer. Baeloth peered around his shoulder from the other side.

"... Hey now, it wasn't my idea for the necromancer t'go after you. I trusted though that if Baeloth was gunna try anything, that he'd nail him to the floor, tho-"

"What are you?"

She blinked, eyes narrowing as she studied the blank look on Damion's face.

"You're physically strong when you have to be, have great endurance, though you're a little bit clumsy. Your eyes keep changing from grey to brown and back, and every day you look a little different than when we met you. You turned into a... A -thing- at the bandit camp. You use a chain for a weapon, and you're ill tempered, if somewhat lawful." He cleared his throat slightly, and gestured to her. "You're... Not really an elf, are you. I always knew you were weird, but... Can... Can you hit a tree or something, and be visible please?"

"Well, what d'you think I am, then?" She shifted, pushing herself up before cracking her knuckles against a fallen branch, flexing her fingers as the others looked at her.

"... Baeloth named you as a... A cornugon. I don't... Really know what that is, beyond some sort of demon."

"Devil, technically. Lemme save your life by saying that it's a -really- bad idea to mix the two up. We're in a war, after all." She rubbed her nose, still watching the two visible at the edge of the trees.

"So... You don't... You're not denying it?" He seemed baffled, and watched her nervously.

"Look, Kid, you've got-" Xzar made a subtle 'negatory' gesture, and she smoothly continued. "-People after you for who knows why, and this is what puts you on edge? If I was gunna kill you by now, wouldn't I 've done so already? You're traveling with a necromancer who eats people. I told you who I worship. S'prised you didn't figure it out before now."

"I mean... I'm not... It doesn't really change anything. But now I'm curious, who did the armored guy kill that made you want to kill him?" Damion stepped closer, before gesturing for her to sit as he settled himself down.

"Well, I'm contractually obligated t'do so, is all really. I took this gig 'cause it helps me practice things I wouldn't normally be able to, and makes me a better tactician, yeah? Gotta ask though, Baeloth, what narrowed it down?" She gave him a once over, and he pursed his lips.

"Running the Black Pits, I've seen your type before. I've seen how you fight for a few days now, and the way you partially morphed at the bandit camp looked irritatingly familiar until I put it all together. -Why- are you wearing a faerie though? Aren't there -better- forms to take?"

"Loads've 'em. I didn't have much choice though. Part've the challenge." she tilted her head, and Damion paused.

"Wait, so... That... Elf is...?"

"Basically my contract contact, yeah. Body dies, I fail. Body's not present when the armored arsehole gets killed? I fail."

"And if you fail, what happens to you?"

Ira paused, blinking at Damion.

"I forgot, you mortals form pact-attachments at the drop of a hat. If I fail, I end up either banished from this realm for a century or stuck until the body dies, and -then- banished for a century."

"So... There's... Really no drawbacks beyond a minor setback?" The archer looked somewhat relieved, and managed a slight smile. "It... Makes a lot more sense though, why you're helping me."

"Hey, I never once lied about why. Hell, I told you outright." She shrugged.

"I mean, yes you did, but it's not..." He trailed off, frowning once more.

"'Cause I'm not personally invested in you the way the armored arsehole and Xzar seem t'be?" Ira supplied, quirking a brow.

"Yes, that." He relaxed once more, smiling sheepishly. "It also means that you are a lot stronger-"

"Woah woah woah, lemme stop you right there. I'm as strong as you've seen me be, 'cause if I do anything more than that - and trust me, I was _pushin'_ it at the bandit camp, and probably shouldn't've done what I did there - before this body gets any more used t'me, it rips itself apart and dies. Think've it like- Where's Viconia going?" Ira glanced over at the camp.

"Vico-Oh. She... She was still invisible. I sort of... I sort of forgot she was there."

"You're killin' me, Kid."


	26. Best served wet

_Content warning: Xzar's stats are 14 str/16 dex/10 con/17 int/16 wis/10 cha_

* * *

Damion started to head across the camp before Ira caught up to him and snagged him by the arm.

"Kid, you've two choices here. Test her allegiance and see if she comes back on her own, or - instead've blundering around the brush - track her. She's invisible, so you wont find her by lookin' for her, but you might if you listen, if you watch, and if you keep an eye out for signs of passage."

"We have to go after her." He pulled his arm away, frowning. "There's only an hour of invisibility left, and there's all kinds of things in these woods."

"Right. So are we going after her because she's got healing capabilities, or are we going after her because you pity her since she's got nowhere really to go?" Ira quirked a brow, spreading her hands. "It's important, yeah?"

Damion studied the brawler for a moment, before shaking his head.

"No, it's not. That's the point."

The archer drew his bow and knocked an arrow, before slipping out of the camp and into the woods.

"I will never, -ever- understand you mortals." Ira shook her head as she watched him go, scratching a hand through her hair in bafflement. "Not really, at least. Just when I think I've started to..."

Footsteps slipped past her as quietly as they could, and Ira didn't even bother to glance towards where she heard Xzar making his way after Damion. Instead, she looked towards Baeloth with a quirked brow.

"Well? You goin' after them too?"

"Hmm?" The sorcerer folded his arms, coming to stand a few feet away. "... I honestly expected him to denounce you and try to drive you from the group."

"Yeah, figured you did. Didn't factor in that it doesn't change anything that's happened, though. You're smart, but you've got a long way t'go." She stretched, yawning widely. "He's always figured something was off, right from th'beginning, and you underestimated how long we've traveled together. I've hauled him out of the line've fire a few times, and mortals tend to appreciate that so long as they don't think you plan on putting them right back in."

"Do you have some hold over him then, Devil?" Baeloth turned his gaze out into the forest.

"Nah. He knows how strong the armored arsehole is, though. He knows I know, too. And we both know quite well that neither stand a chance 'gainst him as we are right now, not separate. Together, though? Maybe soon. Not yet, but soon." Ira settled her hands on her hips, puffing her cheeks out. "So, I ask again. You goin' after them too?"

"No. I'll not navigate the near-labyrinthine land that lays lost in the lightless night." He turned and headed towards where he had settled his meager pack down, sitting down on the blanket he had been given.

"Y'know, you should give the Kid some credit. He's standin' on his own two feet, just about. Far cry from what he was doin' when I found'im. Looked almost like he was gunna cry at any given moment. Little tiny-ass drake just hatched out've its shell, his hide's gettin' thicker and his fangs are startin' to grow in." The brawler moved to stretch out in the camp, hands behind her head as she stared up at the sky.

"And -you- are the one hand-rearing him then?" The drow scoffed.

"It's a group effort. Takes a village, and all that. He's my best shot at what I gotta get done, is all. Longer he stays alive the better my chances are."

* * *

Damion had only the faintest ideas of what he was looking for when it came to tracking. He wasn't sure the helmet helped or hindered, with the infravision it gave him, but he knew surely he would have been almost blind without it. The archer could feel each minute as it slipped by without finding Viconia and as he traveled he worried maybe he had passed her, and considered doubling back.

And then he heard the singing.

It was indescribably beautiful, and he slowed as it distracted him until he had come to a complete halt. Slowly, he started to walk towards the source of the intertwined voices until he broke through into the clearing and finally saw them. Two women, skin tones tan and pale blue and hair the colour of sea foam. As he approached, they opened their arms towards him and he dropped the bow.

_...What was I doing?_

_...Try to control -me-...?_

The two women had stepped back off of the edge of the slight beach and into the river, beckoning him to follow with smiles and giggles.

"Look at him, isn't he handsome sister?"

"Yes, come, play with us!"

_... Wasn't I looking for someone?_

_You -dare-...!_

The thought of a dark-skinned figure flashed across his mind, but who it was he couldn't have said. He reached the edge of the water and hesitated, glancing down. A pale blue hand slipped under his face and tipped his chin up, and his eyes met ones that were as bottomless and dark as the ocean itself, from iris outwards so that there seemed to be no sclera. Lips curled up, and she was _beautiful, just so beautiful_,_ and he wanted to see if the eyes were the same __**colour all the way around to the back**_**...**

He felt detached from his own body, almost like a passenger on a wagon, and just like with the beautiful, beautiful eyes of the cats in Candlekeep, he found himself reaching out and cupping the sides of that beautiful, beautiful face as he stepped knee-deep into the water. Then, his slender fingers wrapped around her neck and began to **squeeze**.

* * *

Xzar had the presence of mind to clamp his hands over his ears when he had started to hear the singing. He knew that any singing in the middle of the night in the woods was probably -bad-, and as much as he wanted to howl to drown them out he had a Bhaalspawn to try and find as he carefully worked to keep from tripping over things in the dark before he paused. A Bhaalspawn. A Bhaalspawn who by all inclinations and evidence had never, not once, been outside of his own home before the death of his father. An untrained, untried lamb out in the woods alone, with very likely magical singing floating tantalizingly through the air...

He hummed loudly to himself, nasally so that it reverberated in his own head, counting rapidly the numbers that ended with one that he could get by multiplying sevens, rapidly tearing off the hem of his robes and stuffing the cloth against his ears, wrapping it tight, trying to muffle the external sound as best he could. It wasn't the -best- countermeasure, but he was unprepared otherwise. He started to make his way to where the singing had seemed to have originated from, following the giggling, which turned to melodic cursing. As he broke the treeline and found himself beside a river, he glanced up and down along the banks, trying frantically to find shapes in the dim light provided by the moon.

There, fifty feet up the bank, two? Three? Figures, struggling in the water. A muttered incantation lined his fingers with ice as he broke into a run, and tried to pick out which of the figures he should -not- hit. They all had long hair, but two were struggling to push the third down into the water. One of them looked up as he approached, and he was better able to make out the voluptuous figure before swiping out with his hand. A burst of cold had her shrieking and recoiling back, and he cackled until he felt something puncture deep into his side. Breath coming out of him with a wheeze, he peered owlishly down at the slender arrow that was sticking out from between his ribs, grasped at it as he felt a sickening pulse through his system, and wobbled as a second one joined it.

He hit the water, a prayer on his lips, unaware of the third.

* * *

Damiondred pulled himself up out of the water, coughing and sputtering to the sound of Xzar's cackling. Sucking in a lungful of air as best he could, he turned to see the necromancer was a single step deeper into the water than he was, that one of the beautiful _dangerous_ women had recoiled, clutching at herself. Ripping the helmet off, he hacked and then turned as the cackling abruptly cut off, looking just in time to see Xzar hit the water. The other female was another six paces out, bow drawn, and she knocked another arrow as a glowing hammer materialized behind her and slammed down, causing her to cry out.

Relief flooded his system, and he turned to draw a dagger and reached down to try and keep the necromancer's head out of the water, hauling them both back out of the river as another figure waded in and spat out words in the rough, if melodic language the archer recognized as Viconia's native tongue. From how the string of words continued, he thought perhaps not all of them were necessary for the spell that caused the bank to suddenly rise up, mud and stones stuck between the gaps of the skeleton that pulled itself free of the riverbed and hurled itself at one of the two to occupy it and cover their retreat.

Depending heavily on the cleric to lead them through the woods, he partially followed, partially kept pace with her as she hauled on Xzar's other arm to keep them moving, until finally they paused long enough for her to spit out a prayer and remove one of the arrows. The necromancer sputtered as he came awake, flailing and slapping before wheezing and hanging limp between them, breathing ragged as they continued.

"Viconia, I-"

"Silence, surfacer." The drow sounded irritated, even as she led them through the woods further. "You are crazy. Rothe with a wraith spider on its back crazy. What were you doing?"

"... Looking for you."

She scoffed, and shook her head.

"Your efforts cost you your helmet of infravision-"

"Worth it." He smiled slightly at how she hesitated, and though he could barely make her out in the dim moonlight filtering through the trees smiled wider at how she tossed her head. "Look what happened to us when we split."

"So you came after me thinking that I somehow -need- you?"

"No. we came after you because I need you."

She muttered something under her breath, and they finally slowed to a proper halt.

"Besides, I can't keep Baeloth under control on my own."

A sound that might have been amusement emerged from the drow.

* * *

Ira yawned widely, mentally counting. Baeloth had settled down to trance nearly half an hour ago, and the Kid was being -awfully- late in returning. He was beyond the range of her hearing, and while she normally would have followed the archer immediately Xzar had gone after him, which meant he at least should have had -some- form of protection. That, and she didn't want to leave the sorcerer alone with all of the gear. There was a level of trust and a level of dependability that were both independent of each other, and so far the sorcerer hadn't met either to a satisfactory enough degree that she felt it safe to leave him alone.

Still, her priorities shifted slightly when something started being dragged at the edges of her hearing, heading roughly in her direction. Sitting up, the brawler peered off in the direction of the sound and rumbled quietly, habitually, before pushing herself to her feet and heading out quietly to try and meet whatever it was and see if it was a threat or if it-

Ragged breathing met her ears, as well as faint, familiar voices before she picked up the pace.


	27. Best served diplomatically

_Content warning: Alluded torture._

* * *

He felt like he was floating. Weightless, adrift on the Moonsea perhaps. He kept his eyes closed, just in case, and utterly ignored the cold that was seeping through his body. It was easier that way, he felt, and by the Gods was he tired... A life of clawing his way up from the bottom, and what had it gotten him? Nobody -appreciated- his talents any more, not since the temple had been ransacked and he had been taken and stuffed into a hole in the ground. Of course, that had been perhaps the -best- part, no, the worst had been how they only left him there, comfortable as a corpse in a box for a few hours at a time before they would haul him out. They always had the same questions, too, and asked as they poked and prodded, stabbed and slashed, with their needles and knives and...

_"Where are they hiding?"_

He had laughed, of course. **They** were long gone by now. He couldn't have told them where even if he wanted to. Good riddance, too, not that he wanted to be there in the first place but it was better that it was him and not **them**. There would always be some of his Lords Faithful. The others would rebuild. He told them so, with their hammers and water barrels that left him sputtering and his lungs burning for air.

_"Your Faith is misplaced, if admirable. Join us in prayer, Heretic. Dark Sun, your Light guides our steps on the One True Path..."_

He never did, of course. He would shriek and cackle and denounce their god until they eventually removed half of his tongue in a fit of rage. He had tried to choke to death on the blood, but they hung him upside down for a few days before reattaching the severed section with their profane magic before stuffing him back in his box with a gag to prevent himself from chewing through the offending appendage and doing so on his own time. It was there, in the darkness, bound and gagged in a six by two by one box, that he felt his light snuff out, heard the soundless howl as it reverberated through him, felt that chasm open in his chest and the Second Breath that had surged through him vanished.

_"Bhaal is one with Cyric now. Join us in our prayers, Godless, and find your faith renewed."_

He had hung in the chains they had left him in overnight, shaking and mumbling prayers under his breath. For every one that went unanswered, he lapsed silent, until hours passed and he made no sound. They fed him, gave him water, and there was no more torture of the body. Instead, one of the Mad Gods priests came in and would pray as if helping him through a grieving process, dedicating Bhaal's soul to Cyric, claiming that he had found eternal rest as part of the Black Sun.

_"Thoughts and prayers for those of his Flock, Heretic." The voice was gentle, an elderly man who was praying for him today. "Thoughts and prayers protect them and turn them to the Dark Sun's light."_

He could still feel the way his consciousness had recoiled from the pain that made him want to howl with grief, and caught himself thinking in high falsettos or low croons, and started losing time more rapidly than he had in the past. Whatever other parts of him were emerging and watching through his eyes he smugly thought through the haze, it didn't seem like any of them liked the Mad Rabbits any more than he did...

_"Do you know the muffin man?" His question had caught the priest off guard, voice a suave purr. He shifted slightly, rubbing back against the wall in his tattered robes, watching from inside his own head as his body moved on its own and fought down the bile he felt rise as he realized there were thoughts and plans being set in motion that he hadn't actually _ _ **thought ** _ _of, and knew that blasphemy against his dead god was the one way, the -only- way, and if he could find some of the Progeny then maybe... Just_ _ ** maybe** _ _..._

Someone was calling his name. It tugged at the edges of his sensibilities, commanded him to open his eyes, and something fluttered in his chest like the ghost of a memory of a breath...

* * *

Damion leaned over the necromancer, the words of his angry shout ringing in the air of the clearing as Xzar's eyes fluttered open. They were unfocused, staring blankly up at the archer before he seemed to recognize him.

"You are -not- allowed to die!" There it was again, words laced with command fueled by emotion, and like a second heartbeat in his chest he felt that same, faint flutter. His lungs struggled to work, and a searing pain flashed through his side before muttering reached his ears. Female, sibilant. His eyes panned to the side, and he half expected to see the elderly Cyrite and he was mildly surprised to see the female drow. Relief surged through him, and he started to sit up as he recognized more and more of the surroundings.

"No, no, stay down. Viconia's healing you, you were... Sort of touch and go for a bit there." Less emotion fueled the command, but it was still -there-, and he obediently relaxed back against the ground. Damion smiled weakly above him, before settling back onto the ground and sighing. "... She said you weren't waking up because you'd... Lost your reason to. She closed the hole, but you just sort of kept fading until you woke up."

"Hrrrm~, did I?" Xzar took the rough rasp of his voice in stride, trying to sound mild and fighting the urge to cough. He only succeeded by scrunching up his face and focusing on wiggling his nose.

"You... Stopped breathing a few times, before you'd start back up with a gasp."

"Iiinteresting~..." Xzar hummed as best he could with Viconia healing his lung. Belatedly, he recalled portions of what he had experienced while unconscious. "Five times?"

"I-... Yeah, Xzar, how did you...?"

"Oh, no reason~." Blithely he avoided remembering the waterboarding, focusing instead on the stars shining far and away in the night sky. A little voice in the back of his head niggled at him, trying to get him to talk about it but the necromancer firmly squashed it. "Are they dead? The Singing Seductresses?"

"I... Don't think so, but neither are we. Neither am I, because of you. They were drowning me, and then you came out of nowhere, and then they shot you, and then Viconia was there, and we were running, dragging you between us-"

"-And dropping your weapons." Ira's voice came out of nowhere, and Xzar and her ability to move quietly before a helmet and a bow clattered to the ground nearby. He glanced over noting that she had a pair of arrows sticking out of her and immediately felt better about himself as she continued. "You gotta learn how to shoot like them, Kid. Wasn't easy gettin' these back."

"Ira, why do you always manage to get shot?" Damion's voice was exasperated, and the necromancer caught him shaking his head out of the corner of his eye as she shrugged and pulled the arrows out of her arm and stomach.

"Hey, nobody informed me the rules specifically stated that I oughta catch'em with only my hands."

"New rule, then. Stop getting shot in the torso, please?"

She snorted, and shook her head.

* * *

Baeloth felt only -slightly- bad about the results of the evening, despite how they roused him from his trance. While he -could- have looked for the others (and likely had better luck at it than Xzar) he had instead wanted to take the time to rethink his strategy, analyze how the pieces of the construct that was their 'party' truly fit together. With putting the half-baked devil under his heel wasn't apparently an option, he had to turn to other ways to increase his social standing-

"Baeloth, whatever you are thinking, could you please reconsider?"

The sorcerer blinked, looking over towards the campfire as the archer idly prodded some of the coals and added a log. He was keeping watch while the others slept, meditated and tranced.

"I don't know what you're planning, but I don't -like- it. We need everyone here, and if you keep trying to find ways to split us up, then we're going to have to leave you behind. You can turn invisible, so you -are- potent enough to make it to a city and go from there, and I'd much rather that you didn't, but you have this look on your face like these people are prey and you're trying to find the right time to eat them." A stick was raised and pointed towards Baeloth, as Damion tilted his head. "Talk to me. What's wrong beyond the fact that you're really far away from home? How do I help you fit in with the others to make everything go smoothly, to help everyone get along and fight the people trying to kill us instead of each other?"

He smiled slightly, sheepishly at the sorcerer, before setting the stick down and looking back towards the fire.

"I'm... Not much of a leader, I know that. But I'm -trying-. You're an exceptional spellcaster, you're pretty smart since you figured out what Ira was in almost no time at all, when I didn't even know and I've been traveling with her for a while..." Damion sighed, before shaking his head. "... Is it just because you're new to this group, and that you don't feel appreciated? Help me help you, Baeloth."

The drow turned his words over carefully, analyzing them before he huffed and folded his arms.

"... What do you know of the Underdark, hmm? What has Viconia told you."

Damion frowned thoughtfully, brow furrowing in thought as he considered the question.

"Not... Much. We don't really talk about it, because... Well, I don't think Ira cares, and Xzar usually has other things on his mind. I try and not ask her because I know it's not something she likes to remember."

"It's a -terrible- place." Baeloth looked off to the side, scowling as he recalled life there. "The lowest ranked female is still worth more than the highest ranked male. At least, in the -cities-. I had carved out my own little niche running the Black Pits. I was on top, in command. I was the voice, the face and the kingpin of the arena, setting up fights. I lived in luxury. I snapped my fingers and servants jumped to feed me morsels of food and wine. And now I'm here."

He gestured to the woods around them.

"Following -you-, presumably at least, while my strength returns. And in your wake trails a devil stuffed into a cracking shell determined to train you, a madman who eats suspiciously named 'finger food' and appears devoted to you, and a fallen daughter of Lolth. And throughout it all I have been threatened, yelled at, ignored and made to feel as if my only reason my _insignificant_ presence is tolerated is because I drip with arcane potency. I had to force a conversation about what exactly your -goals- are, and I still have only pieces. Don't think I didn't -notice- the Cornugon's shift in words. It was going to say something and changed its mind mid-sentence."

"I'm a godspawn."

The sorcerer paused, before slowly looking back towards the archer as he poked and prodded at the fire once more.

"She changed what she was saying because she didn't know if you know, I think. To protect me. From what we can tell, people are trying to kill me for no reason whatsoever and I think that's probably why. We've done some thinking on it and so far we're fairly certain Bhaal's my... Father, I guess you could say."

"Well, that... Does explain the secrecy." Baeloth mused, stroking his chin. Possibilities were unfolding in his mind. "It also explains why the Cornugon wants you -trained-."

"I've been talking with Viconia on what divinity and prayers and god-stuff, every now and then. Haven't, since we came across you, but... I just feel really lost when it comes right down to it. Everyone is helping in their own way, I learn a little bit from each of you. Even you, Baeloth. I'm... Not the best at talking, but I try and listen to how you say things. It helps, and being able to talk to people is a pretty important skill, I'd say."

"You... Listen to how I talk?" The sorcerer paused, curious.

"Yeah, how you helpfully, uhh... Handle, the-the heard word." Damion gave him a weak smile. "I don't know what it's called, but when you make a sentence of words that start or end with the same sound, I think it's pretty cool."

"Alliterations, Human. Words that start with the same sound are Alliterations." He waved a hand slightly, chin lifting as the archer perked up.

"Yeah! Those. Your intellect and wit show really well when you use them."

Baeloth rolled his eyes as he hid his smile, before settling back onto his bedroll to try and trance.

"A word of advice then, Oh Fearless leader? When trying to butter people up to manipulate them, try not to be so -obvious- about it."

"Only if I can practice more. I meant what I said, though." Damion turned back to the fire, smiling to himself as he continued to keep watch.


	28. Best served on the wing

_Content warning: Damiondred Jetovski's stats are 17 str/18 dex/16 int/10 wis/10 con/15 cha (He's a quick study, hence why he's been learning quickly) but he has a bit of a handicap until he starts actually utilizing his abilities. Similar to how people who aren't left handed sword fight with their left hands to give their opponents a sporting chance, except with depression and anxiety instead of courtesy. Also, cloakwood 3 to cloakwood 4 travel time is basically sixteen hours, which makes me sad._

* * *

Viconia thought long and hard about what was happening as they traveled through the woods. First, she considered Ira. Learning that she was a devil-creature inhabiting the body of a darthiir explained a number of things. Why she acted nothing like what was expected of a faerie, for starters. Why she was remarkably durable, why she had the strange senses she did, why she moved as if uncomfortable all the time, how she would sometimes reach for something and seem irritated that her arm couldn't get her hand there without her having to -move-...

The willingness to eat people, as well.

The drow shook her head, glancing behind her to where she could hear Damion and Xzar muttering back and forth about magical theorem. Like the rest of the group, they were invisible, and she grimaced to herself as she looked infront of her once more. The only proof she had that Ira was still traveling in front of them was due to how the grass flattened periodically and showed where she walked. Baeloth was, presumably, somewhere at the back of the group. None of them seemed to realize how much danger they were all in. Bad enough if the Flaming Fist caught them and found drow, but if they found the Cornugon...

"Viconia? Are you there? I, uhh... I don't want to try Baeloth's method of finding people."

"I am here, Jabbuk." She heard movement behind her that shifted carefully around to the side, and then glanced down to note where Damion's boot prints were indenting the grass next to her own, watching how they adapted to her pace.

"Are..." He cleared his throat, and she could imagine him looking away. "I want... I want to hear your thoughts. I know I'm not very good at talking to people, but I want to know what I can do to help you feel at ease. I'm... Well, I'm screwed without you, since none of them can heal. You're also cautious, wise, and much better at spotting danger than I am. But I don't want you to think that being here is a one-sided thing. What can I do to help?"

"For one, Jabbuk, you need to understand how dangerous this group is. Not deadly, dangerous as if we are caught by the authorities, we are to a one very likely going to be killed." She rubbed her temples, and then pulled her hood lower to try and block out the worst of the sun, despite how light went through the invisible fabric regardless. "Two drow, so-called monsters from the Underdark, a necromancer, and a devil. There is nobody in this group who can go into a town without any sort of risk, no?"

"So far, we-"

"You are not -listening-, Rivvil!" Viconia hissed out the words, and she watched how his steps shied away from her own before resuming her pace. "So far we -nothing-. It would only take the slightest of misfortunes to cause the authorities to cross our path, and you are planning to enter one of the largest cities for a hundred leagues in any direction. The larger the group, the greater the risk of the oddities being found, and the closer I dance with death. My entire survival on the surface has depended on -not- being noticed. -Not- being caught. So -what- are you planning to do, hmm?"

"... Bae-"

"Baeloth -what-. Hiding under the spell of invisibility is -not- a long term solution."

Damion was quiet for a moment, before sighing softly.

"... You're right. It's a predicament that I need to think about and really work on. I want everyone to be safe, above and beyond anything else. This group is all I have for a family."

The cleric stopped in her tracks, baffled, and watched as his boot prints continued on.

* * *

Ira scrunched her face up in thought as she listened to the conversations going on behind her. Some things just weren't adding up, and that meant that the Kid was -lying-. The thing was, if she hadn't known about Imoen, she would have -believed- him. He was starting to blend truth with falsehoods, and as much as misinformation irked her she had to applaud the Kid for how he was improving. Grimacing, she re-focused on their surroundings and paused.

Were those wing beats?

"Hold up, folks."

Conversations died behind her, and she peered upwards. Sure enough, a figure blurred overhead, off-green with something purple dangling underneath.

"... Ira? What colour were Xan's robes that you got for him?" Damion sounded strained.

"Purple."

"... Can you track it?"

"Can I track something that didn't leave footprints and who's scent is a half-league up in the air. Kid, think really -hard- about that question."

"Well, I-I mean... It was flying that way, right? With a person? Isn't it probably going home?"

"You want me to, what, magically run after it carrying everyone and stop it from eating it's supper?"

"If that's Xan, then we need to save him."

She threw her hands up in the air, not that he could see it. "You're going to insist, aren't you."

He said nothing, but his boot prints hurried past her.

"Fuck me sideways with an anchor."

* * *

The sun had set, and they still hadn't found any sign of where the flying beast might have lived.

"Kid... I'm gunna be blunt and say that I tried to tell ya so."

"It has to be around here somewhere. If it's Xan-"

"Jabbuk, that is a fairly large 'if'." Viconia sighed.

"Who even -is- this Xan?"

"Enchanter. Elf. Rescued from a Rabbit Mine." Xzar chimed in helpfully, and Baeloth audibly scoffed.

"I don't understand it. I thought-"

"Look, Kid, if something's flying home with dinner just after what we'd consider lunch, then that means it's at -least- a five hour flight before they touch down. On average, things fly a whole hell've a lot faster than normal people walk, yeah? Birds ring a bell? On top've that, they don't have to contend with the landscape, with weaving through trees and making sure they're goin' the same direction. You just pick a landscape point and -go-. If that was Xan? He's probably been dead for an hour now, 'less it was dropping off its food to a baby drake."

"Drake? That was a dragon of some kind?"

"Hell if I know, Kid. I saw it for as long as you did, which was not very. All I got is that it's sorta green an' got wings. If it's a dragon, it's certainly not a futsanglung. "

"A... What?"

"Sorta like a giant snake with legs. Also known as an 'underworld' dragon. Breaths lava. Keep in mind, Kid, most've the beasties I'm used to tend t'be hellish or abyssal. I fought, not searched for what Prime creatures ate or wiped their arses with."

Damion sighed, before looking around the small clearing he hoped everyone had stopped in. With the helmet he could pick out four other sets of footprints, so he -hoped- that meant everyone was still there with him...

"... So we camp here, then. And tomorrow, we keep an eye on the sky and hope that Xan's still alive."

"And if he is not, Jabbuk? What will you do, howl your grief to the winds? If this is some manner of dragon, do you truly think we are prepared to fight it?"

He lapsed quiet at that, before shaking his head.

"... Ira, can you take first watch, please?"

"Yeah, I can tell this venture's gunna go -real- smooth."

* * *

"Kid, we gotta talk."

"I don't care if he's dead by the time we get there. We have to go."

"Yeah, look, I'm not disputing that, I wanna know what in th'nine hells is wrong with you. I mean I -get- that you're worried, but you're borderline freakin' out. Where's your head at?"

He grit his teeth, shaking his head as he continued to walk.

"Right on my shoulders."

"-Is- it? Doesn't seem like it. You've been high-strung and twitchy beneath whatever you think is passing for a proverbial mask. Your sleeping's all fucked up again, too. Talk t'me." Ira sounded unimpressed, and the archer throttled back the urge to tell her to mind her own business.

"It's-"

"Next words out've your mouth better not include 'nothing'. I can find you a whole lot easier than you can find me, an' you know I hate bullshit lies."

"-I was -going- to say, that it's complicated. And that I don't know how to explain it. It's... I don't know. I'm just... -Angry-. Angry like I used to be before Imoen. Which is... Sort of not really angry at all, I guess, just..." He struggled with the words, and sighed.

"Word you're lookin' for 'violent'?"

"... Sort of. Why suggest that one?"

Ira snorted, before snickering.

"Well, you're fuckin' twitchy. 'S one thing."

"You can't see me though, so how-?"

"I can hear you roll in place eight times in under an hour tryin' to sleep -really- well, Kid. And you sigh so much you'd think you're deflating. But on top've that, I've seen how you get sometimes in fights. Usually you're, well... Skittish until one've your friends gets hurt. Then your spine straightens and you start being able t'-fight-. An' I mean -really- fight. Arrows through half a foot wide gaps accurately fight. Not s'much angry as focused-violence, minimum effort for maximum pain t'your enemies type. Don't get me wrong, it's exactly what you need if you're gunna survive. Usually, though, you pull out've it, but... I dunno. Seems like you keep waffling slightly into that sorta state. I can tell when were're walking when you do 'cause I stop bein' able t'hear your steps as easily as I normally can. You can move -damn- quiet when you've a mind to."

"... I think... It's because I'm worried about Xan. I've... Sort of noticed that I can get focused, but it's usually only if..." He trailed off, hunching as they moved.

"Don't leave me hangin', Kid."

"... Only if I think they're mine, and being taken away from me." The words were whispered, and he looked to his right, as if it would help him hide better from the words. "... When I was attacked, trying to find Viconia, and Xzar got shot... Before they got there all I could think of was how -beautiful- they were, and wondered what the other sides of their eyes looked like. The most natural way to find out seemed like throttling them until their eyes popped out. And I don't... That's not -me-. That's the monster I was while growing up until Imoen pulled me out of it. So I have to find Xan, even if it's not Xan or even if he's dead, I have to keep proving to myself that I'm not this... Thing, that I can feel under my skin and in my head sometimes."

"... Alright, hold up. So does this thing feel like a -separate entity- or you just find yourself thinkin' or doin' these things."

"Both. Neither. I... I don't know."

"'Member how I said your hatred'd save your life one day?" Ira's voice circled the archer, and he glanced down to keep track of her footsteps.

"Y-yeah."

"This is just like that. Use it like a tool. Rule it, otherwise it'll rule you. 'Cause you try and put it in a mental box it'll just get out an' you'll find yourself staring down at your hands and crying over the blood they're coated in."

"But -how-?"

"How th'hell should I know? But chin up, Kid. I think we found where yon flyin' beastie lives."


	29. Best served with backup

_Not particularly happy with this chapter, but I'm tired of re-writing it._

* * *

It was a giant hole in the middle of a small mountain, and the smell that wafted out was absolutely -awful-. At least, that was what Damion thought to himself, as he covered his mouth. From how Baeloth was making constant sounds of disgust, at least one other person agreed with him, though as Ira took a big whiff and signed contently it seemed the list of people who disliked it ended there.

"Ahhh... R'minds me of home, that does. Nostalgic, ain't it, Xzar."

"Hmm, no. Home is embalming fluid and putrefaction. It -is- close, though, like the prep room before we cleaned them. Like spleen-fights." The necromancer giggled and sounded like he was closer to the ridge, and the archer grimaced at the mental image of a younger Xzar throwing spleens at people and ducking retaliatory organs.

"Right. So it's just starting t'get dark. We-" Ira grunted. "Incoming. Don't anyone move."

Damion froze, hunched as if that would make the invisibility more effective as he caught the sound of wings in the distance. They grew louder, until finally a huge winged beast touched down. With his helmet, he could barely make out the vague shape of it at the distance he was at, but Baeloth sucked in a breath, gagged, and then cursed.

"Drake? No, that is a wyvern. Not much better though, if you ask me."

"What do we need to know about it, Baeloth?" The archer shifted as if to look at him, remembered that he couldn't see him anyways, and looked back at the vague blob the figure was in his infravision.

"Poisonous stinger, powerful jaws and claws. We had a few of the smaller ones in the Pits, but they didn't last very long. A pity, really." A rustle of fabric and footsteps retreated from the ridge and settled by another rock.

"Your call, Kid. We goin' in and takin' it down, scoutin', leavin'...?"

"I'll scout. Wait for me here. -All- of you, Xzar."

Sullen muttering answered him as he slipped over the ridge, and he smiled to himself as he quietly and carefully padded along. The vague shape had by then pushed into the cavern, and quiet chirps and rasps could be heard from the entrance when the archer finally paused there to take stock of what he could see of the situation. The smell had been bad a hundred feet away, but from ground zero it was far worse and he found himself gagging slightly at it. He could -taste- it in the air. He was somewhat unnerved at how it almost tasted sweet.

Shaking his head, he ever so carefully slipped into the cave. A twist, a turn in the downward path, and then it narrowed. Claw marks lined the gap, and he settled near it and fought to keep from losing his lunch at the sight of half-eaten corpses strewn about the cave and piled against the walls. A scrap of purple caught his attention, and he froze as he noted the body it was wrapped around was being chewed on by three wyverns the size of cows...

* * *

"... I do not -like- this." Xzar tucked his hands into his armpits, huddling and shifting as he stared at the vague silhouette of the cave. "In the history of 'Bad Ideas' this is -worse- than hiding in the paladin's attic."

"Madman, we do not need to know why you were in the attic of a paladin." Viconia's tone was dry, and came from closer to the ridge. "What we need to know is how we are getting the Jabbuk out of there."

"Why should we? Wet-behind-the-ears wanted us to wait without wandering." The sorcerer muttered out around a yawn.

"He -did- say to wait..." Ira rumbled quietly as the necromancer tittered, voice climbing in pitch.

"Why wait? When did anyone telling us not to do something ever -stop- us?"

"Xzar, Kid's your leader-" Ira exhaled slowly as the necromancer scoffed and cut her off,

"Pfa! Fie on leadership, and fie on you! I'm going, and that's that!" Throwing his hands into the air, he turned away from the cave to survey the visibly empty clearing, hands settling on his hips as he leaned invisibly forward. Behind him, in the cavern, something roared.

"Now who's coming with me?"

* * *

Damion had many regrets at that particular moment. He regretted the fact that he was in a narrow cavern, that his mobility was limited, and that he wasn't faster and thus couldn't make it much further out of the cavern than just past the narrow choke point. He regretted the fact that wyverns apparently had a much better sense of smell than he had expected, but mostly regretted that he hadn't been able to kill any when a cold rage had lifted his bow the first time and glanced arrows off of the heads of the dragon-like creatures. One of them had fluttered over him and landed between him and the exit, and while so far one of the three was dead he could hear the bigger one stomping through the depths of the cavern on its way out.

He swung with the short sword, catching the maw of the one in front of him with the blade as a stabbing, searing pain erupted across his back. He cried out, swung wildly to try and make it back off, before it rather suddenly bowed as if a great weight had dropped onto its shoulders. Ira appeared atop it, lashing the chain around its neck and hauling back. It squealed, thrashing and trying to stab her with its tail before she simply hooked an arm around the appendage just behind the stinger, and rode it the rest of the way into the ground.

Hope blossomed through his chest, though he might have mistaken the feeling for the healing magic that poured through him, Viconia appearing next to him with her hand on his shoulder. The burning remained, but as she continued to pray he felt that perhaps it wasn't going to last long. The baby wyvern took a step closer, maw parting before frost crackled across its jaw and it stumbled back with a shrill cry even as Xzar echoed it and backpedaled to avoid the much larger adults head that snapped through the crevice and tore part of his robes.

"Help? Help help help. Help!"

Damion reclaimed his bow, pushing himself up as a series of magic missiles slammed into the larger one's snout, driving it back for the moment. He couldn't help but smile as Baeloth's voice rang through the cavern.

"You really -ARE- mad! Who charges into the fray in a robe!" The sorcerer shook his head, hands already raised and ready to launch off another salvo of magic missiles as Xzar scooped the dead baby's head and sawed frantically at the spine with a dagger to try and remove it quickly.

"Focus on the problem at hand, yes!?" Viconia finished her second prayer, and the archer felt the burning of the poison subside as she quickly stepped around and tried to put her shield between Xzar and the unencumbered baby wyvern. Just in time, too, as the stinger on its tail thunked into the shield and protruded through the wood, caught there. She snarled, and Damion brought the bow to bear, one of his shots burying into its chest and the other tearing a hole through one of its wings. A red bead drifted through the air and passed under the re-emerging adults head before the force of the fireballs explosion blasted it up slightly. A secondary cry from behind had Damion cringing.

"Baeloth! There's more down there! Do that again please! Xzar-"

The necromancer's voice rose until he was shrieking out arcane words, before turning and lobbing the skull as hard as he could down the corridor. It bounced twice, rolling under the first as it finally pushed its way past the narrow section of tunnel before it staggered as the skull exploded with a shrieking wave of necromantic energy and shrapnel. Xzar looked smug before eyeing the wyvern working to free its tail from the shield as it snapped at the cleric and caught the edge of her chain armor. A second red bead drifted through the air, and Damion finally put an arrow into the baby wyverns eye and dropped it, turning to glance at Ira while Baeloth's spell filled the narrow portion of the tunnel with fire.

The remaining live wyvern baby was prone on the ground, tail tied to its feet, with a loop of chain hooked around its neck and slowly being cinched to the tail. It rocked slightly on its back, one wing flailing periodically while the other was stood on by the brawler.

"Stop fighting me. Y'know you're -fucked-."

He shook his head, before looking back to where the tunnel narrowed. Another large snout was emerging, burned and bloodied as it was, just as the second wyvern skull bounced past it.

* * *

Damion covered his face with a cloth, wading past the wyvern corpses (there had been in total six 'small' ones and two 'large' ones) to try and find the purple cloth he had spied before. It was right where he had last seen it, and as he approached, he slowed and swallowed to keep from being nauseous.

"... Xan..."

What was left of the body, was a purple-swathed section of the ribs, waist and head. The latter had been clawed into to get to the eyes and soft tissue, leaving the face a mess of tooth and claw marks while parts of the ribs were broken and some of the limbs scattered to the room. The archer dropped slowly to his knees, reaching out before recoiling as, for a moment, he saw grey robes instead of purple scraps of cloth. Xzar waded through the gore, pausing and tilting his head to the side as he studied the body.

"I'm... I'm sorry I wasn't faster."

"Daaamion..."

"I'm sorry, I should have-"

"Da-Mi-On~."

The archer jerked slightly, looking miserably towards Xzar as the necromancer put a hand on his shoulder.

"The shape of the skull and the hair is wrong. That... Is not prison-elf."

"... What?"

The elder human patted his shoulder before crouching down and pulling the body closer, raking his fingers through the brown hair.

"See? Straight. Four inches long at the longest. Xan had long, wavy hair, yes? Yes. There is also the distance of the eyes - wider here, yes? See? And the torso, look, see here, narrow yes but we can surmise from the remnants that this was someone -healthy-. -Very- healthy. Stronger in the shoulder here, lacking the sallowness of recent malnutrition. The elbows show signs of hypermobility, granting an abundance of flexibility, and see here? Though eaten, largely leather armor." Xzar picked and poked at the body as he spoke, pointing out specifics and lifting a gibblet to his mouth.

"Xzar-ew-please-" Damion looked away, turning slightly green. "Not... Not right in front of me, without warning."


	30. Best served by conversation

_So. It has come to my attention that one of the 'rules of writing' that I was under the impression was something that Should Not Be Done, is actually entirely acceptable. Here I was, struggling with always putting what a character says as the first thing in a line, and then awkwardly trying to fill in what they were doing after. Turns out, you can have a person pick something up and then say something as the same paragraph._

_Things just got a whole lot easier for me to write._

* * *

Damion sat outside the cave, trying to clear the smell of blood out of his sinuses and get some fresh air, before he heard the rattle of chains and a subdued whimper. Turning his head to the side, he watched as Ira dragged the bound baby wyvern out of the cave and stretched.

"... What are you doing?"

Ira glanced over, before grinning. "Look, they grow pretty quick-like, right? Train it well, and you gotcherself a flying mount or wingman."

"So... You want to keep it, then." The archer frowned, eyebrows almost connecting over his nose and drawing a toothy grin from the brawler.

"Fuck yeah I do. 'S a utility pet, once I break it it. Collectable poison what can be sold or used, a sixth body that doesn't talk back, something t'carry luggage..."

"You realize how bad of an idea this is, right?"

"I mean-" She raised a hand, the other still holding onto the chain. "-Sure you might see it that way, but this'n's still real young, yeah? Easier to train. 'Sides, think of how useful it'll be if you fly around on it and shoot people. Loads easier than gettin' stabbed."

"Yes, but-... They take a -lot- of food, from what we've seen. They eat meat. Horses at least eat grass-"

Ira waved a hand, scoffing. "Kid, there's meat -everywhere-. Just gotta look the right way, yeah? With how much ground they oughta be able to cover, shouldn't be a problem unless you get transported to the middle've butt-fuck nowhere."

Damion sighed, shoulders slumping as he gave up. He thought about how narrow the paths through the Nashkel mines had been, how easy it had been to spot the adult wyvern flying, and raked his hair back from his face. He watched the brawler as she hauled the chained fledgling a little further away from the cave and started to adjust how the chains were tied. He cleared his throat quietly, watching for a moment before looking back out towards the forest.

"Any idea where to go next?"

The clink of chains paused as Ira glanced over.

"Eh?"

"... Never mind. All of you came in after me."

"Not my fault. Talk t'Xzar about that."

Damion frowned over at Ira once more, hunching slightly. "You... You wouldn't have come in after me, if he hadn't?"

She was silent for a moment, settling a hand on the wyverns head and idly scrubbing her fingers across its muzzle.

"... 'S complicated, that. See, if I take orders from you, -really- take orders, then I've put a fleshbag mortal above myself. But, I'm tryin' to teach you how t'lead, right? So if I don't, then you don't get practice for how it's s'posed to work. 'S a problem for me, trying to balance these two things. The fact that I -can-, worries me. But t'answer your question, I'd've probably gone in after another half an hour, ish. You oughta be allowed t'make your own mistakes, after all, and I'm hopin' you came out've this with a better understanding of why it's stupid to go off alone."

The archer nodded slowly, tapping his fingers against one of his knees.

"... I did. You wanted me to learn that the first time, when I went after Viconia didn't you. But I didn't, and went off to try and scout the cave myself."

"Got it in one, Kid."

Damion glanced back out to the forest, smiling sheepishly.

* * *

They made camp a little ways away from the cave shortly before midnight. Xzar lay face-down on his bedroll, muttering under his breath into the muffling fabric and twitching periodically as he worked through a problem he already had the answer for but had lost his grasp of the answer. Words that were both his own and yet were not tickled his brain.

_Damion went into the cave. Damion was attacked while inside the cave. Damion was prevented from retreating from the cave. Damion was poisoned, and cured by Viconia, in the cave. Damion would have died if left alone in the cave._

His thoughts turned to a much more dangerous person, clad in plate armor and wielding a massive two handed sword. Remembered words growled through his mind and he grimaced into the fabric, baring his teeth against the cotton and wool .

_"Find him. Kill him. Return to me when you are done. If I see you before then, I will consider it your failure. Do not fail me."_

A shiver crawled up his spine, and he propped himself up on his elbows enough that he could get a proper lungful of air and peer towards Damion. The archer looked to be asleep where he lay by the fire, a mere handspan of feet away. A thousand small moments were born every day, a thousand small opportunities. He tried not to think of them. At first, it had been Ira's presence and the fact that she didn't seem to sleep that bought him time, but now...

Mercenaries were just throwaway labour that did the dirty work. He was used to that, but what he wasn't used to was the option of going rogue. He had two choices in front of him, and one was less likely to kill him out of boredom or spite than the other, above and beyond the Zhentarim itself. He briefly wondered if killing the boy would have any impact on his rates of survival with either faction. He arguably hadn't had an actual presence inside the room when Montaron had been ambushed, after all.

Xzar smiled to himself. He was crazy if he thought it made a difference now. Whether he had intentionally meant to or not, he had chosen the horse least likely to personally bite him but also would most likely get him trampled. Idly, he picked at the grass and hummed under his breath, a quiet little hymn to a long-dead god while his thoughts looped and considered his predicament as if he hadn't already come to a conclusion.

* * *

Viconia idly yawned as she kept watch. The sun would break the horizon soon, and the thought of it soured her mood somewhat. It meant another day of squinting as her eyes adjusted to the harsh glare and wishing for nights sweet relief from the rampant illumination, which was reason enough to enjoy it. It meant-

"Viconia...?"

Damion's voice drifted to her ears, and she stifled a sigh before looking over to where he had sat up and appeared to be looking around for her. Without his helmet on, he was just another rivvil lost to the darkness, and she debated for a moment simply not answering to see if he panicked or not.

"... Can... Can i talk to you? I never seem to be able to, but... But i want to."

She made a face at the almost pathetic tone of his voice. Laced with hesitance, quiet as if he feared startling her, as if he expected to be struck down for daring to let her name grace his lips. The disgust lessened for a moment, mollified by the perceived place of power it put her in before she tapped the log she sat on.

"I am here, Jabbuk."

His head turned slightly, orienting on her, and he felt around before finding the helmet and slipped it over his head so that he could find his feet and join her on the log.

"Thank you. For coming after me."

"I agreed to help you before I realized I had made a pact with a devil."

"A-?" He sounded confused, and Viconia huffed before looking back out into the forest.

"She asked me to help you, and in return she would put herself between me and things trying to kill me. In the caves, she did this thing quite often."

The archer ahh'd quietly, before nodding slowly and looking away. "That... explains why she was always at the front, despite wearing no armor. But I don't know if that... would that count as a pact? It seems less... ceremonial that i thought it would be. If you didn't get it in writing..."

"Why does it matter to you? You benefit from this thing, why are you trying to find loopholes to release me from it?" Her tone was edged with confusion and bitterness, and she jumped slightly as he put a hand on hers.

"Because I wanted to think that you saved Xzar and I at the river because you wanted us to live, not because of a promise to Ira. Because we looked for you, I guess. I can't... I can't always let myself rely on her, so I was hoping, maybe, that in that moment I hadn't had to." The hand slipped away, and his tone gained a sadness to it that had her internally scoffing. "I.. You probably think I'm another stupid surfacer now, don't you, for harboring a hope that didn't exist."

"Whatever gave you that impression, Jabbuk?" She fought to keep the sarcasm out of her tone, eyeing him as the sky brightened in the east and the archer chuckled slightly as he stood up and brushed himself off.

"Because that's what I think of myself. But, I don't know... You seemed sort of relieved when we were dragging Xzar through the woods back to camp. I think that-"

"You think an awful lot for someone who seems not to think at all." She waved a hand, unable to keep the sneer out of her voice as she looked back to the forest. "You had best get ready for the coming day, Jabbuk. You would not want to walk into danger like the child you are."

* * *

Damion winced slightly, internally cursing as he made his way back to his bedroll and started to pack his effects up. So focused was he on his task, that he jumped slightly at the dark-skinned hands that started to help him roll up his blanket.

"Well, -that- went poorly, didn't it." Baeloth kept his voice quiet, murmuring to the archer and peering at him with an amused look. "Keep your voice down, yes? You bumbled through -that- conversation with all the grace of a four-legged drider. Trying to butter up the priestess is a pointless venture from that angle, amusing as it was to watch."

"Any bright ideas then, oh master of conversational arts?" He muttered under his breath, tying the strings around his blanket to keep it rolled up rather tighter than was absolutely necessary.

"Well what are you trying to -do-?"

Damion grimaced beneath the helmet, stuffing the blanket into the pack.

"... Get her to admit that we're her friends."

Baeloth straightened, sputtered, and the burst out laughing as the archer hunched his shoulders and looked away.


	31. Best served by fighting

The wyvern did nothing but fight and hiss and try to eat people whenever Ira force-fed it. It snapped, it swatted, and it was thumped in return. Damion felt that its stubbornness suited the person patiently punching it in the snout every time it tried to bite her. The beasts nose was already somewhat swollen, and he felt it was only a matter of time before it either caved in or gave in.

Still, it was an inconvenience largely due to how it slowed their progress as they searched the Cloakwood and prevented any real use of Baeloth's invisibility spell. Even if it went long enough without fighting its determined handler to allow the use of the spell, the hissing noise it made seemed to attract every monster in earshot. All in all, over the course of a day's travel they covered half the ground they wanted to and fought what felt like every single spider, bear, wolf, worg and tasloi within a hundred miles. By the time the sun hovered near the horizon they had already been camped for an hour and killed another pair of giant spiders and both Baeloth and Viconia were giving the archer rather pointed looks. He didn't look forward to having the chat he was going to have with the brawler.

He waited until the wyvern had been fed and sat on before approaching.

"... Ira?"

She grunted attentively, holding the beast in a headlock as it flexed and thrashed and was slowly choked out.

"Umm... About the... About the wyvern..."

"What -about- the wyvern." She glanced over at him as the beast gave a wheeze and its eyes rolled back into its head while it went limp.

"I... Uhh, that is to say..." He shifted uncomfortably as she quirked an eyebrow and let the beasts head thump against the ground. "It's... It's not really... -helping- the group. We've been attacked more today than we have been since we left the Friendly Arm Inn, and... I don't... I don't think we can really keep... Going like this."

"You mean t'tell me that -You- don't think that I should keep trainin' it?" She leaned forward, eyes narrowing and rumbling out a note of irritation. Damion leaned back slightly, and tried to smile.

"... Ye-es...?"

Ira's nostrils flared, before she threw her head back and snorted. "Good. -Good-. Stand up for the rest've 'em, if you can't stand up for yourself. You -balked-, though, so half points."

"You... You only were keeping it...?"

"T'see how long it'd take for you to man up? Yes. 'S a fuckin' nightmare, trainin' anythin', let alone while travelin'. You think I got time for this for -real-? It blows stealth tactics that've kept you alive out've the water and would've been a -hell- of a hassle anywhere near a town. A full day's a pretty good record, though. Standing up to -me- 's a pretty impressive thing in and of itself, considering I already bloodied your nose once."

The archer swallowed slightly, relieved and feeling somewhat proud at the praise as he straightened.

"So... You're getting rid of it?"

"Fuck yeah I am. Could you even imagine tryin' to get this thing to walk through a building, let alone a cave network? Or a mine? Weavin' it between the trees is irritating enough." She scrubbed a hand across her face, stretching a moment after and rumbling out an amused tone.

"What..." he paused, before glancing around. "... What are you going to do with it, then?"

"Well, they taste like -shit-, so eatin' it's out've the question, Probably break it's neck and leave it lie. Or, use it as a bargaining chip for Ten."

Damion frowned, hunching slightly. "... The jester from the Jovial Juggler?"

"Yeah. It'll be an 'experience' for him. Which r'minds me, I'll be back by dawn, without the beastie." Ira rolled off the unconscious wyvern and found her feet. Brushing herself off, she hauled on the chain and dragged it partially over her shoulder before looking back at the archer. "Try not t'die before I get back, yeah?"

* * *

Without the wyvern, the night passed relatively quietly. Everyone was able to get as much rest as they wanted, which for the archer was a unique experience that he muddled through as best he could. As used as he was to being sharply prodded awake, he woke up after the usual six hours and then laid there an extra two, fighting a futile battle against the forces of restlessness and rooting for team sleep.

Team sleep lost, though not entirely due to it's own absence. Xzar, around hour seven, had gone from an apparent deep sleep to sitting bolt upright and shrieking like a girl with an abrasive abruptness, sending him scrabbling for his bow and drawing a long-suffering groan from the sorcerer who was sprawled out a few feet away as Baeloth dragged his pillow over his head. Viconia had looked away, hand over her mouth as she snickered and kept watch.

"Something -touched- me...!" Xzar remained stock still, wide eyes darting around madly. He refused to move until Damion had eased over and poked through the grass and the necromancers bedroll, eventually rooting out a bullfrog and tossing it away. Xzar wrapped his arms around the archers legs in an appreciative hug, snuggling his thigh and crooning about 'his hero' until awkwardly patted and pried off.

Of Ira there was no sign, even as they all loitered about their camp and worked on a hundred small tasks that they each had neglected over the course of their journey. Weapons were cleaned, clothing mended and washed that extra time. Even Damion was able to get more studying done than he wanted, finding himself unable to concentrate fully on the book in his lap as hour after hour passed but picking up bits and pieces from the book regardless.

"Do we leave her behind?"

The archer jumped slightly, glancing over to where the sorcerer was lounging and idly playing with his canteen. Baeloth quirked an eyebrow, gesturing to the camp in general. "Well? We're all thinking it."

"Would you like to traipse along and hold the front line then, oh bouncy one?" Xzar drawled out from under the spellbook draped over his face, reaching to lift it slightly and peer at the male drow. "You -do- have the Big Robes, after all..."

"Do we -not- have someone capable of doing this?" Baeloth gestured towards Viconia, who gave him a dirty look from under her hood and went back to leaning against the tree and dozing lightly.

"Poor form, to put the healer on the front line." Damion frowned, before closing his spellbook and tucking it into his pack. "We cannot stay here forever. This is true. But Ira said she would be back, and she isn't the type to go back on her word."

"-What- exactly did the troublesome trollop tell her travel's return time to be?" The sorcerer idly flicked a speck of dust free from his sleeve, before fixing the archer with an unamused stare. "Dawn, I do declare, has decidedly departed."

"Which means either something bad happened to her, or she's going to be in a bad mood when she gets here. One that I'm not sure I want to make worse by not being here." Damion countered, before frowning. "... She's scary competent on her own. I don't see many things being able to take her down with anything resembling -ease- in these woods. Not only that, but she's fast, and can do that... Bony-protrusion thing. Maybe the juggler is just giving her a hard time."

"Da~Mi~On~... You don't -really- believe that, do you?" Xzar rolled onto his stomach and propped his chin up on his hands, kicking his feet idly.

"... No. I don't."

"Sssooo? What do y-"

"No!" Baeloth interjected, folding his arms to form an 'X'. "Halt. Stop. Cease and Desist. If something was strong enough to take her down, what chance do you think two casters, a cleric and a half-trained child would have?"

* * *

"I -still- insist that this is a -very- bad idea." Baeloth muttered under his breath as they eased through the woods, searching along the southern direction that Ira had taken from their camp.

"Is that the wyvern?" Xzar's voice was a harsh whisper through the trees, grass flattening in patches before the others in their invisibility-shrouded group figured out which direction he was going and followed. Sure enough, they found the beast chewing something meaty and cloth-bound. Its head came up as they eased closer, chain dangling from its neck and still bound about its wings. Bloodied nostrils flaring, it let out a low hiss and shifted, trying to bring its tail to bear as it searched the clearing for the people it could smell but not see.

"That's an arm. There's shards of metal this way." Damion paused, before remembering that the others couldn't see him. "Erm... East by south eastish?"

"Do we kill it or leave it?"

"Leave it, Xzar. We can find more chain another day, but we need to find Ira now."

Damion couldn't see it, but he could almost hear Baeloth roll his eyes with how the sorcerer sighed heavily at the edge of the clearing over the frustrated hiss of the beast.

* * *

The halfling spat off to the side, irritated as he pushed himself up from his crouch. The necklace wrapped around his hand tugged slightly towards the south, and he turned his scarred visage back towards the group loitering around the abandoned campsite.

"They went south. We're gainin', but nae fast enough."

"(Not fast enough he says. As if we did not have better things to do elsewhere.) I am running out of time."

"We'll kill yer witch soon enough, once this job gets done."

Dark eyes narrowed within the depths of a particularly red hood, even as the Thavian sneered.

* * *

"I'm... Not the best at tracking. We all know this. As much as I might want to think that I've made a mistake, I -really- think that Ira's in there somewhere."

Baeloth scoffed from somewhere to Damion's left. "In -there-? The wooden palisade protected potentially trapped and probably pest-infested island in the middle of the lake?"

"The colours match what was on the arm the beast was chewing." Viconia mused from somewhere near the bridge.

"Murder-Death-Kill?" Xzar's voice warbled out a hopeful tone from somewhere near where the clerics had.

"I want us to try and conserve as much of the big stuff as we can. We don't know how far down this goes, and that was something we ran into trouble with in Nashkel."

"It's -two- buildings!"

"Two buildings in the middle of the woods, with a palisade and wagon ruts worn into the ground. Come on, Baeloth. You're smarter than this."

Cloth rustled quietly, coupled with muttering before the archer eased over to the bridge.

"I'm going to just slip ahead a little bit and see what I can see. I'll be right back. I'm going to stay within sight of this bridge here, and I'll shout if I need to be rescued."

"Five minutes."

"Xzar?"

"You have -five- minutes."

"And then you come in after me?"

"Naturally."

"Murder them all if I get killed."

"Your voice is ambrosia~."


	32. Best served sneakily

_Content warning: Implied torture and cannibalism_

* * *

"How curious."

The words seem to come from far away, and Ira twitched slightly as she heard them. She stayed as still as she could otherwise, and tried to take in as much of her surroundings as she could. She was floating, she could tell that much. She was also breathing water, judging by how thick the 'air' felt in her lungs and how it tasted faintly of sea brine. The liquid surrounding her muffled the surrounding sounds, but not enough.

"A Bhaalspawn wandering the woods alone. Reiltar will be pleased to hear about this."

And just like that, her curiosity was tweaked.

* * *

"Two mages, one guy in plate armor, and one in what looks like chain mail." Damion's voice was a hushed whisper on the bridge, and three sets of feet invisibly flattened the grass nearby.

"So what's the plan then?" Baeloth's robe rustled as his tone gained an amused edge to it. "Stick to the small spells? If they're alert, we don't have much of a chance of sneaking past. Two spellcasters means at least an alarm spell or two."

"The one in chain mail had a flail. I'm guessing he's some sort of cleric. Viconia? What ambush-type spells would a cleric usually have access to?"

"We do not all have the same god or goddess given spells." She sounded mildly irritated, before gritting her teeth. "... Very likely a glyph or two. They do not last forever, though they can be made permanent with the correct tools."

"I have some idea of the more common spells that could be used, but I don't know a whole lot about what defenses they might have. The best bet would probably be for Baeloth to lay down two fireballs, Xzar to throw a skull trap a little ways in and let them trip over it and set it off, and then to pick off whoever is left. Or-" Damion paused, before his tone became thoughtful. "... Viconia? Can I ask something very specific of you?"

* * *

Kysus knew they were under attack the very instant that he caught sight of a singular bead of red drifting towards him from the bridge. He lifted his hands to start to raise a defensive spell, and then went cold as mid-somatic component all sound vanished from the immediate area with a soft pulse of blue. His robes protected him from the worst of the blast, but he came out of it cursing silently as he turned and started to bolt towards one of the walls. He had caught sight of Rezdan bolting the other way, and grimaced to himself. Drasus had already started to move towards the bridge by then, having recovered and hustled to choke the only entrance into the area as Genthore followed, hefting a throwing axe.

The elder mage finally could hear his footsteps, and immediately spun, hands raising as he started to shout out the incantation of a spell that would sow confusion in the minds of any on the other side of the bridge...

His words came out in a gurgle, as a short sword plunged through his back, angled upwards. Across the way, Kysus could see Rezdan rather suddenly stop moving, a green robed man stepping partially out from around him and starting to weave one hand through the air as the other fished a skull out of a pouch on his waist, focusing on the bridge. Drasus, who was physically staggered backwards by a thin slip of a creature with a yellow hood and chain armor (let alone Genthore who was still within the presumed radius of the silence spell) wouldn't see it coming. He was familiar with the necromancy involved. He knew it would -hurt-.

He gritted his teeth, forced himself to concentrate through the pain and choked out the final syllables, dropping the spell on top of himself.

* * *

Damiondred blinked, coming to the realization that he was walking along a path in an otherwise featureless grey place. Coming towards him was a mindbogglingly perfect mirror of himself, and as they passed he heard almost an amused whisper curl through the air.

_You fought so -hard- to protect them. Are you going to twist the blade you hold too?_

_He threw himself at you, you know._

The archer paused mid-step before looking down to see that he was sitting down with Xzar draped over his legs, arms wrapped around Damion's waist. A blade of some kind was just starting to pierce downwards into the necromancers shoulder, and as he stared and seemed held by those unflinching green eyes, realized that the short sword was held in his own hand.

Damion felt like he was surfacing after having unknowingly being submerged in water. He sucked in a breath, and jerked his arm up to throw the short sword away and sputtered out a few incoherent syllables before Xzar jerked to the side and hauled him along to drag him clear of the throwing axe that buried itself in the dirt near by. Shaken, he scrambled to his feet and pulled the necromancer up with him, looking around and starting to backpedal as the plate wearing axe wielder started to charge towards them.

"Xzar-!"

"Run! Run now!"

He didn't need to be told twice. They picked up speed and made it to the bridge just as Viconia downed the human wearing chain mail, slipping past her as she readied her shield.

"What in the nine -hells- happened? You had a plan!" Baeloth shook his staff at them, before his eyes widened and he skittered behind their cleric to take advantage of the cover she provided.

"I-"

"Confusion!" The necromancer almost howled the word as a dart caught him in the back, face twisting into a snarl even as he spun, tore it from his robes and hurled it right back. It pinged unimpressively off of the plate armor as the sorcerer scoffed and spat something likely derogatory out under his breath.

"Xzar-?"

"Shoot him?"

Damion fumbled for his bow, before drawing an arrow and loosing it. It clipped off of the heavily armored figures advancing form, spinning harmlessly to the side.

"Enough of this!" Baeloth drew himself up, slipping out around Viconia and letting loose a barrage of magic missiles. A pair of darts answered his efforts, but a second barrage of arcane darts sent their source stumbling before the final one put the human down for good. Silence slowly crept over the courtyard as Xzar slipped back out and used a length of rope to bind the still paralyzed mages hands behind his back and spent a long moment dislocating the fingers.

"That was... What is the term you surfacers use. A 'shit show'?" Viconia pressed a hand to her side, watching the others as a faint blue glow suffused her hand.

"I... Xzar, I'm... I'm sorrmmpf?"

"No." Xzar quickly reached to press his hand against the archers face, muffling his words. At the raised eyebrows, he grinned widely. "Magic, yes? Yes. You sliced a -stitch-, and threw the sword. You came -back-. And now? We -successfully- caught one alive, and none of us died, yes? Yes! Plan success!"

Damion blinked, before smiling slightly, shoulders hunching as the necromancer pulled his arm away.

"Besides! Shouting didn't work, nononooo, you were half-way across the Dark Lady's silencing spell. Words would not reach." Xzar waved his hand as if to dismiss the matter, before peering curiously at the dark robed mage who was finally shrugging off the effects of the ghoul touch. "Da~Mi~On~...! May I...?"

"Get what information you can, first."

Xzar's lips curled upwards at the corners as a too-wide grin took over his features.

* * *

Baeloth sorted through the magical items and effects that he and the archer had peeled from the three corpses. They did their best to ignore the sounds that came from the stables.

"Are these...?"

"Hmm, no. Travelers robes. -That-, however, is a scroll of Fireshield. A -very- useful spell."

"Is it a spell that you know?"

"No, but you and the necromancer have spellbooks and could probably use it more than -I- could."

Damion nodded, before wincing at a particularly pained shriek that cut off abruptly.

"Those boots. They got him across the courtyard faster than expected." Baeloth waved one of the boots at Damion, drawing his attention back to the pile. "And the morningstar might be of use to Viconia. It holds magic within it, as well as the plate armor. It's lighter than normal, which is probably part of the enchantment."

"Th-the robes from the mage that Xzar and Viconia are working on, they look like the ones that Ira was talking about. They're trimmed in orange so... They... Protect from fire?" The archer poked at the fabric distractedly.

"Possibly. Always best to double check with these things."

Damion side-eyed the sorcerer, trying to focus. "Is there anything you can use?"

"Well... No. Not really. The scroll, maybe some of the leftover darts."

"You'll get a larger share of the gold then. Xzar and I are getting the spellbooks anyways, so we should get less either way. Viconia, if she can use the ar-"

A terrified, incoherent sound babbled out of the stables before trailing off with a gurgle. Damion swallowed dryly, shuddering.

"A fair trade." Baeloth smirked knowingly, taking no small amount of pleasure at the archers discomfort.

* * *

"We learned a few things during our investigation." Viconia pointedly ignored the necromancer as he hummed contently to himself and licked his fingers clean, blood smeared across his face. Baeloth did the same with just as much success, though Damion kept turning slightly green every time he glanced over. "Ira was ambushed and brought here, subdued after ripping one of the mercenaries arms off and beating a few of the others with it. That guard and one other that were injured are in the building to the north. The entrance to the mine is further in along the path, and inside the secondary building and consists of two, perhaps three levels. The entire place is monitored by someone called Davaeorn, who is a powerful mage in his own right. These four were also hired to prevent anyone from 'meddling'. It is a well fortified location that was once manned by dwarves before they mined into the side of a river and flooded their own home. Davaeorn himself holds the key to the plug that seals this hole."

"So we need to find Ira, find and steal this key from Davaeorn or kill him and take it, and flood the mine to kill the rest of them." Baeloth glanced to the archer, who nodded. "Well, what a wonderful, one-dimensional way of wasting an entire way-station of woe. When do we start?"

"We're going to need to rest sooner rather than later. If this place is as big as you say it is, I don't think we're going to be able to clear what we need and then fight a powerful mage with what we have right now. Which... Reminds me, Viconia? Can you use these?" Damion offered out the plate armor and the morningstar towards the cleric, who accepted them and frowned.

"... They are not as heavy as expected. Magic-laced?" At the nod she received, Viconia sighed. "If I catch any of you peeking as I change into this, you will -wish- you were Rezdan."

The archer glanced curiously towards Xzar, who giggled and wiggled his fingers as the cleric stepped away.

"Tasty~."

"I... Should have seen that coming."

* * *


	33. Best served with absence

He had learned, and was still learning -fast-. Viconia could see that now, as they crept around a corner. It went Damion, herself, Baeloth and then Xzar. Usually, the archer would creep up to a corner once she had stationed herself at the base of a set of stairs or in the middle of a corridor a hallway or corner away, and then pepper whoever he could find with arrows as he bolted back past her as she stepped aside and then stepped up. The boots of speed helped immeasurably, and some times he was able to make it back around a corner before they even saw him. Of course, once they lost sight of him, half the time they would search in the wrong direction or check down the hallway and scramble away on seeing an empty corridor.

The only times this did not work, were when enemy archers or spellcasters were involved. This was why it had been utterly important for him to learn a few of the basic hand gestures of the drow, to be able to communicate such things back to her and the others, at which point they went with one of their alternate plans. Namely, either trying to find a way around or a protracted battle where Viconia -still- acted as the main defense against arrows but herself, Xzar and Baeloth created a distraction or diversion to allow Damion to sneak around and put the spellcaster down. In the event of archers, it was nearly the same save that it took even longer, with Viconia partially peeking out around the wall and Damion standing behind her, stepping out to fire shots and then stepping back behind cover.

In this manner, they were able to cover a lot more ground and conserve their magic for longer, although with the spellbooks and potions they collected off of the bodies they just about broke even, in regards to effort versus gain. Damion was certainly not going to run out of arrows any time soon. The only trouble they had was really with what appeared to be an ogre mage that almost took them by surprise, if not for how they had all gotten into the habit of watching the floor from their time spent invisible. The large foot-shaped imprints in the plush carpet had been a dead giveaway, and Baeloth had worked hard to time his barrages of magic missiles to interrupt as many spells as possible once he was visible.

By the time they found the passage behind the walls, though, they were all tired, and as the second ghoul lined up with the first under Viconia's control, she smugly sent them to guard the secret door they had entered the passageway through.

"I have perhaps one more fireball left in me, and a single barrage of magic missiles." The sorcerer stretched, yawning widely. "Even this foul-smelling hall might serve to succor a successful slumber..."

The archer nodded, before grimacing as he looked around "I'll keep watch. You three get whatever rest you can. Look at the dust on the ground, people don't come through here that often, and the probably think the ghouls would eat anyone that found this place. I want to try something anyways."

"You will rest for a bit once I have? I will be able to take watch in four hours." Viconia settled her shield down, before sitting on it and leaning back against the wall.

"If what I have planned works... Then I'll be able to sleep soon enough." He waved his hand slightly, starting to strip off his armor and setting it aside, rolling his shoulder. "Besides, with your ghouls guarding, I don't think we'll have any problems."

The cleric nodded, before glancing over to see Baeloth had tucked up against the wall nearby and wrapped his arms around himself, head down on his knees. Xzar didn't seem to mind the hallway, and was sprawled out and snoring softly already. "... Then wake me when it is time."

Damion nodded, before sitting down and setting his pack next to him. As he rooted through his possessions he caught the barest whisper of a sound before glancing slowly to the side and stifling the urge to jump as his gaze met vibrant green eyes.

"... Xzar."

The necromancer lifted a finger to his lips, indicating that the archer should be quiet before he settled back onto his heels and gestured for him to continue. Swallowing slightly and trying to slow his racing heart, he started digging out the rest of what he was looking for. Fiddling with the herbs, he looked mutely to the necromancer for help and sheepishly offered out the items in his hands. A sad, if knowing smile crossed Xzar's features before he accepted the chalk and started to sketch out the circle and runes along the ground. Next was added the herbs at key points, thyme here, cloves there, tobacco next and sage last, before salt was sprinkled into a horizontal and vertical line to connect each of the components. When he produced a dagger and offered the point to Damion, the archer nodded and accepted the blade before using it to cut across his palm, wincing at the pain and closing his hand tightly as Xzar guided it to allow the drops to form a circular pattern around the entire thing. That done, the necromancer leaned forward and murmured softly, voice barely a whisper as he spoke.

_"If you name it, it shall come."_

The archer nodded slowly, before leaning over the diagram in front of him. Thinking for a moment, he carefully breathed out a name, and one by one the components before him burst into flame...

* * *

Viconia came out of her reverie somewhat confused. Something had pulled on her sleeve, she was sure of it, but when she searched she found nothing. A candle nearby had burned down to nothing, and a quick secondary survey of her surroundings ensured that all four of their group were still there, still resting. Still, she felt like she was being watched, and muttered under her breath as she mentally reached for the two ghouls to ensure she still held control over them. Giving herself a slight shake, she rested her morningstar across her lap and settled back down to keep watch as she prayed for her daily blessings.

* * *

The archer woke up slowly, something tickling him under the chin, and he grunted as he jerked before remembering what he had accomplished the night before. Relaxing, he glanced over to see that of his group, only Xzar was still asleep. Understandable, he thought to himself as he felt his newest companion carefully slip along his clothes and curl up in the pouch he had set aside for it. He could feel the mild appreciation for the meal it found there, and licked his lips as he reached for his pack to help himself to some of his own rations.

"... Xzar should wake up soon. Then, we should get ready to go. I'll scout a little bit and be back shortly."

Viconia eyed him, quirking a brow. "What did you learn from the past?"

"At the first sign of trouble, run?" Damion held his hands up innocently, and smiled slightly as Baeloth rolled his eyes and looked pointedly to the cleric, poking his fork towards her as he cradled his mess kit and the hashbrowns he had somehow managed to toast within it.

"Five gold says that he finds trouble and we have to save him. Again."

"I would not take that bet if it meant all the power in the world. I -know- we will have to save him. Again." She shook her head, before taking a sip from her canteen. "... Five minutes, Jabbuk."

The archer scrambled to his feet, scooping his bow and a quiver and hustling down the corridor.

* * *

"Don't panic, but I'm here to rescue you."

Yeslick almost jumped at the voice just outside the door. He hadn't even heard anyone approach, but now that he was paying attention he could quietly hear the scrape of metal before the lock to his cell clicked and the door was eased open. It was a human, with dark eyes and dark hair and almost jarringly light tan boots.

"It's probably safer for you to stay in here for the time being. There's going to be a lot of fighting again soon. We've cleared the back way, but people move and... Well, I don't think that you'd quite get along with my friends. I brought you some armor, a shield and some rations."

"Who-?"

"No time to talk, sorry. They're just out here on the floor. Try and sneak out, and get as many of the prisoners out on the way as you can, please. Oh, and take this to the friendly arm inn please. Some of my friends might be there, and if they are can you make sure that they get this?" He leaned in, pressing an envelope into the flabbergasted dwarf's hands before waving and turning to leave.

Yeslick poked his head out, looking up and down the rows of otherwise empty prison cells, staring at the wide open secret passage at the end of the hall for a long moment before looking down at the neatly bundled items on the ground. He clutched the letter tighter and set his jaw.

* * *

Damion frowned as he studied the hallway. This was the third sub-level of the mines, and there was something... -Different-, about the air here. A faint hint of ozone, an ever so slight strangeness to the floor, as if certain sections were more worn than others and the way the hair stood up on the back of his neck had him thinking there was most definitely at least one trap ahead. As he eased forward, he studied the floor more closely and grimaced as he realized that yes, yes there was a trap there, and no, it was not mechanical in nature. Two slightly different bits of rock in the walls that lay directly across from each other, and his mind was drawing an invisible tripwire between them. The runes, he realized, were inlaid into the floor using the same material as the floor itself, with only the thinnest of hairline cracks to denote that there was any markings there whatsoever.

He didn't have the faintest idea on how to even start to disarm it.

Glancing back, he flicked his fingers slowly and carefully, shaping out the gestures for 'trap' and 'unsafe'. When Viconia slowly answered with 'make safe?' he shook his head and folded his forearms to create a visible 'X'. She turned slightly, and then after a moment they all ducked further back into the corner of the tiny room they had tucked into while he searched. Nodding to himself, he looked down at the trap and laid down, wedging himself as low and far into the corner as he could, and then waved his hand through the trap.

* * *

Ira floated, weightless, waiting. Dozing even, periodically. The wizard had wandered back and forth, read some books, tried to get a reaction out of her and then gone to get some rest as his apprentice puttered around before eventually Davaeorn had returned and started to set up something for whatever he was going to try next. She was still healing, so she was reluctant to try her hand at breaking free without a distraction, but still. She recognized some of the runes he was using on the floor, and she didn't look forward to the prospect of having them activate with her as the target.

Over the course of the night, she had also come to realize that there was more than simply a water breathing potion lacing the container she floated in. Try as she might, she couldn't reach for her innate abilities nor could she force her own essence to flow more fully through the body and reach that half-and-half state she had used in the bandit camp. An experimental press against the glass had confirmed also that there was a paralytic involved somewhere in the construction of her current prison, and if that didn't put a hold on escape attempts on her part then she was a spade-tailed succubus.

* * *

The next time he saw the wizard, Damion realized two things. One, that his piddly little arrows weren't doing a whole heck of a lot. Two, that all spellcasters had a certain limit and usually exhausted themselves fairly quickly. Experience with Xzar and Baeloth had shown him that, although neither of them really favoured defensive enchantments. This mage was prepared for a full on siege, as seen by how he would stride out of a room, cast a spell and then vanish only to waltz out of a different room and repeat the same process over and over again, relying on his other defenses to weather the usually single arrow that the archer managed to snap off or quickly cast barrage of magic missiles.

He had walked straight through two of Xzar's skull trap spells without being worse for wear, and as he vanished, the archer turned and pointed back the way they had come.

"First room! Viconia, get Xzar back in this, I need him! Baeloth, get that fish tank open!"

"Great, acid burning a hole in my arm -and- I'm going to get soaked!" The sorcerer snarled, rounding on the tall tank of water in the corner that held a muddy, swirling mix within it as the cleric hauled a hissing, snarling and severely singed Xzar back up the hallway.

The mage waltzed back in, and Damion fired off another shot, more to try and distract him than anything as his hands came up and wove through the motions of another Aganazzar's Scorcher. As he turned to find a target, he spied Baeloth next to the tank and aimed the ray towards him. Turning, the sorcerer smirked as fire fizzled as it approached him, dissipating as the magic simply refused to work on him as he raised a hand and knocked politely against the glass.

The entire thing popped up an inch, magically opening before sending a deluge of water across the floor and foring the glass up further. A foot stuck out under the glass for a moment before, amidst the spray, two hands joined it and hauled upwards, sending Ira sprawling across the floor.

"You have only sealed her death!"

The wizard vanished once more, and the archer surged forward to haul the sputtering and wheezing figure up as she floundered. He froze as he felt the arm under his grasp almost bulge under his fingers, before with the sound of the flesh of an overripe fruit wetly splitting as it was stepped on, a series of bony protrusions started to push out of her skin. She shook herself, spattering blood everywhere as she did before she sucked in a breath of air and let it out slowly.

"... Mot'er fuckin' wishards an' dere water breat'in bull-_sheit-._"

Damion beamed at her, even as her jaw cracked and widened, making room for the extra teeth that protruded from between her lips and forced her mouth to gape open slightly. The protrusions, Damion almost abstractly noted, were edged in what looked like black scales where they split her skin, and he blinked before he realized she had practically swelled from her previous diminutive height to an inch or so taller than him. This was more than she had transformed before, and as he watched with another wet, ripping sound and a heavy thud, her meaty tail had slammed into the ground where there hadn't been one before.

A single ponderous step had her turning towards an opening, just as the wizard stepped out, and he balked at the sight.

"Davaeorn. Good t'see ya again. Wha' was it y'said, bout th'marrow've m'_bones_?"

He vanished, and she turned and with the grace of a predator and bolted down one of the side passages. Davaeorn didn't reappear, and as he slowly made his way to follow he cringed at the successive sounds of flesh being rent asunder and decided to remain in the middle area.

"... Baeloth? Are you okay?"

"I've been -worse- but that doesn't necessarily make -this- any good." The sorcerer swallowed slightly, wringing out his robes. "How... Did you know that she was in there?"

"Well..." Damion shifted uncomfortably, before moving over to a bookshelf and reaching behind it. A red and black motled viper with wings tightly furled against its body curled around his hand, slithering up his sleeve and coiling about his neck like a scarf before staring unblinkingly at Baeloth. "I sort of was watching this place through Crim's eyes. About an hour ago, I saw her press against the glass. I, uhh... I sort of turned him invisible, but he tried to break the glass and then had to hide."

"What on Faerun is -that-?"

"I, uhh... I read a book once, about a place called Chult. They have these flying, poisonous snakes, and I... I sort of was focusing on that when I summoned him." Damion cleared his throat, before the snake dipped into the collar of his shirt and slithered out of sight. "... The pictures were... Really pretty, and they're usually trained to deliver messages, so they're also pretty smart..."

"Kid?"

"Ira-Oh." The archer turned to peer at the Cornugon that crouched in the hallway, bits of flesh still draped over part of its snout and its wings tucked against its hunched back to help it fit its black scaled hide through what was, for its eight foot tall, five foot wide bulk, a narrow fit.

"So, I dunno how exactly this' gonna work. I failed, an' broke the container, so I'm prob'ly gunna get drawn back in a matter've moments."

"I don't think you failed."

Wide nostrils flared as it snorted, jerking its head up and narrowly avoiding bashing its snout into the ceiling before rumbling out a low chuckle. "D'pends on how y'look at it, either way, but now y'got m'curiosity. How did I not fail?"

"The armored arsehole is still going to die. I'm still alive. I'm better trained than most people can say, and you didn't even have that much time." He paused, before stepping forward and digging the flying snake out of his shirt. "I... I know this might be a lot to ask, but could Crim send messages between us? If I need advice?"

"'S na an infernal creature."

"But can you -make- it one?"

Ira's nostrils flared once more as it considered the tiny creature before reaching out to cup it in its massive hands. Concentration lowered its horned brows, before it reached up and bit its thumb, offering it out to the creature.

"Can taint it, if it drinks."

Damion nodded, before looking at the serpent. It hesitated, before lapping at some of the blood.

"Process' started. Dunno what else I can do t'make it infernal, 'm na good with shit like this. But, I can say, if it makes it's way t'the nine hells..." Ira leaned its head down, rumbling out a low sound. "... Say that, an' I'll be 'long whenever I can."

"Is that your _name-_name?" The archer hesitated, reaching to accept the winged serpent back from the devil as it fixed him with a baleful, pale-eyed stare.

"I will -know- iff'n you share that with anyone, an' I will see to it you're -found-, and killed, Kid."

"I promise I-" Damion blinked as the Cornugon abruptly vanished, before smiling slightly. "... I'll keep it to myself."

Baeloth threw his hands up as Viconia and Xzar re-entered the chamber. "-Great-! -I- let it out of its fish-tank, and what do I get for it? -Soaked-, and nothing more!"


	34. Best served with old 'friends

_Content warning: Segments purely in italics are memories/thoughts_

* * *

Ira stepped into the Hall of Sensations and stood there, watching people pass and searching for one in particular. It didn't take long before she caught the flash of red and white, and she watched him dancing with a blushing mortal across the marble floor. For a large creature, she could move quietly when she wanted, and she made her way over and leaned her bulk against a pillar even as she folded her arms and watched. Eventually, Tenterni finished his dance, bowed, and then blew the blushing mortal a kiss as she wobbled away.

"If I had known you liked dancing, Ira, I'd have offered before." The incubus glanced over, lips curling into a too-perfect smile. It irritated the Cornugon, who snorted and tossed her head.

"Doesn't matter. I failed, what does that mean for this thing I've been doing."

"Well~..." He paused, wings folding against his back as his tail curled. "... It technically counts as a death, so you can't very well go back to the mortal plane. I thought you -never- failed, though."

"You -did- something to me."

"Whaaat? No, I-"

She stepped forward, wings partially flaring as she brought her muzzle within an inch of his face. Ten raised his hands in response, as if to ward her away without actually touching her.

"I'm going to use small words. I have, never once, in my entire time as a devil been physically able to -lie-." A hand came up, before tapping him in the forehead. "Your skin is as black as the darkest, grimiest coal and your hair is curly."

Tenterni watched, fascinated, as nothing happened.

"No pain, no sickness. _I -hate- the taste of mortals_. See? I didn't even -stutter- as that filthy falsehood came out. You -did- something to me."

The incubus held his hands up for a few moments longer before a delighted smile curled his painted lips up at the corners.

"I've freed you-" The words were choked off as her hand closed around his throat reflexively, and she rumbled before letting him go.

"Take me to a private room. This isn't something to be discussed in a main foyer."

Sticking his tongue out at her as he rubbed his throat, the Sensate turned and led the way to one of the side rooms and closing it behind the devil that followed him closely. Ira moved and settled down on some of the cushions before neatly folding her hands in her lap as Ten stepped across to collect the tea set from the table in the corner of the room and fill the pot with water.

"... Are you going to attack me again?"

"No."

He side-eyed her from across the room. "... Are you lying?"

"Even if it's not physically painful, it's still morally -repugnant-. So no."

"Wow, Ira, that was a _big_ word for you~!" He spun, presenting the tea set with a wide grin, snickering at the look of mental pain that crossed her features.

"... Lemme rephrase. I won't attack you _for talking about what in the nine hells you did to me, _but I'll probably deck you if you keep being an ass."

He tipped into a low bow, keeping the tea set level before stepping over and sitting down on the cushions across from her. "That... I really couldn't blame you for. If I had a soul for every time I've been physically injured because I ran my mouth, I would very likely have enough to have ascended and become a god. Tea?"

"Sure. 'Cause, yanno, I got the mouth to sip from a tiny-ass porcelain cup."

"It'll be a _sensation_!" Ten beamed and poured two cups of tea, sending one of the cups to drift over and hover within easy reach of the unamused Cornugon. "Now, do you want the long and complicated version or do you want the too-long; didn't-read' version?"

"Short first."

The incubus nodded, sipped his tea, and then began to speak.

* * *

They did a final sweep for prisoners as subtly as they could, before heading up to where the plug sealed the river. There, they found one of the slaves waiting nervously.

"Yeslick said to thank you. We've got our people out, all that's left is the mercenaries. I'm, uhh... I'm going to run now."

Damion waved as the miner fled to the lift, and watched as it rose out of view. "... Alright. I have the boots of speed. When the lift comes back down, you three get on it, I'll undo the plug and then run to you guys, so start the lift as soon as you see me, because it's going to be a little slow."

"Arrre ye' surrre ye wan' tae do it that way, lad?" Xzar twisted back to peer at the plug, frowning. "Waterrr is -fast-, an' surrre as the tide you'll be swept away, yarrr~..."

"I'm sure. I've gotten used to these boots." He smiled sheepishly at the necromancer, who's frown only deepened in a particularly ugly manner. "I'm serious, I'll be fine. I'm not scouting anywhere dangerous, I'm fleeing as quick as I can in a straight-ish line right to you."

Xzar hmpf'd, folding his arms as the lift came back down.

It worked, surprisingly. The mine filled with water as they watched and ascended back up the fifty or so feet before they reached the surface and breathed a sigh of relief. They got off the lift and stepped out onto the grass in time to see a group of six people being talked to animatedly by the crowd. Xzar immediately ducked back into the building, eyes wide and heart hammering, even as Damion sent his familiar out to see what was going on.

"... It's Montaron. How did they find us out here?"

"Ah'm gon' _die_..."

"No, you're not. We-" The archer paused, recalling mention of a vial of blood and a kill-squad before starting to strip off his armor. "... I've got an idea. Here, help me with this. When Crim comes back to you, go over the fence and down the hill. I'll meet up with you guys behind there."

* * *

Montaron scowled, turning abruptly as the crowd began to move. Whispers had spread through them that his group were there because -they- had hired adventurers to save them, that -they- had food for them, and soon enough they were somewhat separated from each other. He resorted to drawing his short sword and snarling at the miners to keep them back. As he did, he felt the faintest brush of someone against him, and spun to level his sword at a particularly grubby looking miner with short, ragged black hair that hung down into his eyes. He stumbled back in surprise as Montaron swung at him, disappearing remarkably quickly into the crowd. His hand went down, and he realized he still had his coin purse and thus turned back to the other slaves that were eyeing him cautiously and starting to disperse.

* * *

Damion wheezed, hand on his chest as he watched the last of his friends slide down the bank and start to wade through the water across to the treeline. When Montaron had taken a swipe at him, it was only the fact that he had already started backpedaling and that he was still wearing the boots of speed that had gotten him clear of the blade. As Xzar approached, he proudly held out the vial and the bits of fine broken chain that dangled from it.

"I had to break that part to get the vial itself. He noticed me, but I don't think he recognized me. Here, it's yours."

The necromancer peered at it, before looking down at the double-fistful of long black strands he held. He wadded it up and then offered it out as if to trade, and the archer solemnly accepted the hair that had been cut and deposited the small vial of blood at the same time.

"There. Now, let's get out of here before we get caught. Baeloth?"

"Can't. I'm -exhausted-." The drow gave Damion a pitiful look as he finished wringing out his robes.

"Alright. We have two options then. Go back around the long way, along the path that we -know-, or head north until we find the river and follow it east, and -hope- there aren't too many cliffs. The only thing that the second option has that the first one doesn't, relatively speaking, is that we don't have to try and double back past Montaron and his group."

"River -bad-." Xzar mumbled, cradling the vial in his hands and staring down at it unhappily.

"Viconia? Baeloth?"

"This armor is too heavy for me to swim properly in, Jabbuk. The water I waded through was difficult enough." The cleric folded her arms, frowning and glancing over to the sorcerer who was sneering.

"I've had enough of -water- to last me a human's lifetime."

"Alright. So we go around and keep moving until we can't, then we camp, and once you have your strength back Baeloth we continue invisibly?"

Baeloth grimaced, before nodding. "Still, if we get attacked in our current state, we're very likely to -lose-, and we -are- being hunted."

"Don't worry, I have a plan."

"Really now?"

Damion nodded, before smiling slightly.

* * *

To say that the little half-man was angry, was an understatement. Edwin held his temper for as long as he could, watching Montaron as he stomped around, cursed in the Hin language of his people and glared at anyone who so much as breathed in his direction. Still, where he externalized his displeasure, the conjurer fought to internalize his. He failed, unfortunately.

Throwing his hands in the air, he exclaimed about how much of a waste of time this entire venture north had been (and what a waste it was at that!), that the Witch he was searching for was certainly -not- in the middle of the woods near a drowned mine, and that he was going to leave and find out what, exactly, had happened to her. The half-man had spat out something that sounded like a 'good riddance' before Edwin had even left the compound above the mine, and set out through the woods to irritably pick his way back. Imagine his surprise, when he came across a particularly dirty looking human with short black hair that hung down into his eyes, with a bow and leather armor. The same one he had seen Montaron take a swing at, who looked otherwise naggingly familiar.

"(Well well, another monkey lost in the woods.) Who a-"

"You're a mage, right? A Thavian mage?"

Edwin was taken aback somewhat by that, eyes narrowing as he tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robes and started the basic somatic gestures in case he needed a lot of fire on short notice.

"(Only a fool would wear Thavian Red without being an actual Thavian!) What business is it of yours, Unwashed One?"

Damion smiled, and rubbed the back of his head as he remembered a conversation from the past.

_"Ira, how would you deal with the Thavian?"  
"Strike a deal. They usually keep their word unless it's ridiculous. They usually want to keep ahead of the game, so they won't usually take a deal that puts them at a disadvantage."_

"Well... I'll be honest. I'm looking to form a mutually beneficial arrangement with someone who is powerful and won't stab me in the back. What could I do to help you, that would grant me your services after the fact?"

_"So you'd make an offer they cant refuse?"  
"Nah, Kid. He'd suspect that, so you just want to make it sweet enough that he'll think he's coming out on top when he's really either breaking even or getting the shorter end've the stick. Flattery won't hurt, either."_

Edwin's eyes narrowed, suspecting a trap, and lifted his chin slightly as he studied the dirty human in front of him. "I am looking for a dangerous Witch named Dynaheir, and seek to kill her."

_"Honestly, what he wants is t'kill someone for reasons he won't likely tell you. You're too -soft- for that."_

"Okay." The archer nodded amiably, before tilting his head. "I'll be honest, we've met already, in Nashkel. You insulted us repeatedly and we were on a time crunch to clear out the mines there, so we parted ways and you said you were going to look for others who would help you."

"(Ahh yes, the simians who were 'too good' to kill without knowing the why.) Even knowing this, you are offering to help me hunt her down and kill her? Nothing has changed, beyond that I am running out of time myself." The Thavian's eyes were narrowed to the point where he was practically squinting.

_"'Sides, he's a conjurer. While he's more like to keep 'is word, he's also more like to twist everything to the letter to 'is advantage."_

"Well, you seemed like you knew where she was back then, and it doesn't seem like you've found and killed her yet. I'll put my services at your disposal in regards to finding and killing her, and after that you put your services at my disposal in regards to what I need to get done."

"(A fairly simple and straightforward deal. Suspiciously so.) What guarantee, exactly, do I have that you will not turn coward and balk at the task like you did before?" The burning hands spell lingered, waiting for the verbal component, and he continued to study the archer before him.

"Well, something someone once said to me finally sank in I think. Altruism so far hasn't gotten rid of the target on my back, so maybe if I start leaving corpses in my wake, they'll start leaving me alone."

"They?"

The archer nodded, before smiling slightly.


	35. Best served by dream

_Content warning: Imoen._

* * *

Damiondred Jetovski found himself in a very strange place.

He couldn't focus on the surroundings, his mind refusing to register more than the table that sat before him. On this table sat a series of hearts, some rotting, some splotchy, and others healthy. He was vaguely aware of something watching him, and as he reached for each heart he found he could recognize who each belonged to. The one that was slightly soft, weathered and strong was Khalid, the one with whorls that beat just as strongly and warmly and pricked slightly at his fingers with a ghost of thorns the heart of his wife. That one, beating erratically and showed externalized signs of rot and strange tumors while the core of it remained strong and solid, Xzar's. Viconia's and Baeloth's, Xan's.

Imoen's.

The archer frowned, hearing something wet plop down behind him. Turning, he saw another heart. He went to reach for it, and a second plopped down next to it. Then a third, and a fourth, until they were raining down by the dozens. He managed to catch one, and had a brief flash of rushing water, panic and pain, his lungs filling and then...

Damion dropped the heart, stepping back. They kept raining from the sky, and he knew without a doubt that these were all people he had killed. Another step back and he bumped into the table, only to turn and quickly try and scoop up as many of the hearts of his friends as he could. He scrambled, dropping hearts and trying to pick them back up only to catch sight of himself, standing on the other side of the table with a smirk on his face.

"You can't carry them all. You have to throw some away."

The archer shook his head, stubbornly trying to stack and carry the hearts on the table. His arms never seemed long enough, and he looked towards his doppleganger.

"How to I make them safe?"

"You can't. Not all of them. Winthrop always said you have to break some eggs to eat an omelet, remember?"

Damion looked down at the table, before nudging some of the hearts separate from the others.

"What happens to the ones I don't pick? Will they be safe?"

His mirror image shrugged. "Maybe. If you continue down this path, though, they might either want nothing to do with you, or eventually hunt you down."

"... I don't regret drowning the people in the mines. They wanted to hurt my friends."

"All people want to hurt others." The copy gestured to some of the cleaner, healthier hearts and then to the darker, stained ones. "Some have what is held by karma as a 'good' reason, others less so. What it comes down to, is how many people are hurt or killed and how you feel after and what reasons you had to do so."

It gestured to the hearts that continued to rain down around them.

"Some people, for example, simply want to watch the world burn. Others, the kill because it earns them coin that they send back to their families. Why do you kill? Is it fun, for you? Does it give you a thrill? Do you kill only when you have to?" Almost idly, the doppleganger reached out and plucked a falling heart from the air, weighing it in its hand. "... No, I guess not. You could have told Davaeorn's forces to evacuate, but you drowned them because... Why? Oh yes. 'They wanted to hurt your friends'. Only because you invaded their base."

"They didn't care who I was." Damion set down the armful of hearts and then picked two back up, weighing them. "... And I didn't really care who they were. I wanted them to die."

"They were in your way. There is no shame in that."

The archer nodded thoughtfully, accepting that, and suddenly the sound of the odd rain didn't seem so bad after all.

* * *

When the bhaalspawn awoke, he felt surprisingly calm and well rested. His familiar alerted him to the number of hours he had been out (six) and what had happened during that time. The Thavian had eyed up each member of the group, Baeloth and Viconia were 'sleeping' in shifts, and Xzar had muttered incoherently in his sleep in fragments of languages that hadn't made any sense. Nothing had attacked them, and Edwin had seemed alert and attentive to the surroundings after laying down some variant of an alarm spell.

If he had any compunctions about defending a group of people against the group of people he had just recently been working with, the Thavian didn't show it. Still, that didn't mean that Damion was going to trust him, which brought the archer back to considering how he was going to kill Dynaheir. If he even should. If he would regret it. Mentally, he weighed the life of the person he only knew through the words of a rambling bald man and the words of a Thavian with a clear agenda against the Thavian himself.

The problem, he realized, was that he wasn't actually trying to weigh their lives. They were equal, in that matter, but what he was trying to weigh was both how much he cared about these people and how -helpful- they might be to what he wanted to do. He was trying to weigh how willing they would be to take a strangers life to defend his own, without admitting the moral conundrum he was dancing around.

Initially, his decision to try and scoop Edwin had been based around the defensive capabilities of a mage when protecting a specific location and grounded in minor familiarity. He knew what the Thavian wanted, and he could -use- that to buy even just a little bit of safety for the night by having a fresh caster. The decision to -keep- him, however, was balanced between making an enemy of him and condemning someone he had never met to death. Glancing towards Xzar and the two drow, everything suddenly seemed much simpler.

He found some measure of peace in that.

* * *

Imoen fidgeted, sitting on the steps to the friendly arm inn. Xan had found her group somewhere west of Nashkel as they trudged back towards civilization after clearing out the gnoll stronghold and rescuing Dynaheir, as per Minsc's wish. He had reported his findings regarding the iron crisis, and mentioned a lead he was following as well as plans to get stronger. Imoen read between the lines (literally, in some cases. Parts of what she was looking for required the letters of one line to be touching the letters of the line below it) as she searched for signs of the cipher they had used as children to keep their notes secret and safe.

_I- Miss you,_  
Don't be scared,  
I'm changing,  
maybe not,  
for the best,  
but I want,  
to protect,  
You and they,  
show me Not,  
to be scared,  
Of the dark.  
Stay bright -D

She didn't quite know what to think of that. Thinking back to the last time she had seen him, her frown deepened and she shifted where she sat. Jaheira was probably going out of her mind with worry, but she'd had to sneak away from the group, honest! She had to find her brother, she had to make sure he was sticking to his promise! He had to come through the Friendly Arm Inn eventually! In fact, the last time anyone had seen them, had been leaving Beregost and going north!

She just hoped she didn't miss them.

* * *

It was almost saddening, when they found the dead wyvern. Segments of the chain had gotten caught on branches and it had gotten stuck, and with how it had still been partially bound by the chain it hadn't been able to properly defend itself from other predators and had eventually been killed. Damion almost solemnly unwrapped the chain from about it, frowning even as he loaded the ten foot length into his pack. He didn't talk about it, and the others didn't bring it up as they continued to travel through the Cloakwood and eventually caught sight of the looming keep of the Friendly Arm Inn.

"How much is everyone willing to sleep in a proper bed tonight, and how willing are they to do so in shifts? Montaron and his group probably wont waste too much time before they come back here to check for us."

"-Yes-, absolutely yes to a bed." Baeloth slouched, sighing as his arms dangled. "If I have to sleep on the -ground- for one more night, I may just kill someone."

The cleric grimaced, before looking at the archer. "As much as I dislike agreeing with him, a bed would be a nice change, Jabbuk."

"Edwin?"

"(Maybe the simian has an ounce of sense after all, seeking my insight!) This is the closest location the half-man can send a report from. Each of our groups number five, though we are far heavier in the magic department, even if we are somewhat lacking in the, ehh, muscle department."

"As much as I'd like to ambush them, I don't feel that now would be the best time. We're all tired from traveling all day, and we've been fighting pretty constantly ever since we left the Friendly Arm Inn. The other option is to immediately head south to Beregost, but that would mean pushing through the night." Damion held his hands out in front of him, weighing each before looking up to the sky. "It's twelve hours from here to there, roughly. Everyone would be miserable and footsore by the time we got there, but it would be a lot safer. Xzar, do you agree with me?"

The green-robed human who was leaning against a tree grunted, before nodding. "Sleep and safety, safety and sleep, best we move on 'lest we weep."

The archer nodded, before looking to Viconia. She held his gaze for a moment, before humming out a sound of approval.

"It seems you listen after all, Jabbuk. Safety."

"-What-? But there are beds _right there_! Hot food, room service, wine-!" Baeloth gestured to the silhouette of the Friendly Arm Inn, only to deflate as he realized that put three of the five party members in favour of leaving.

"Don't worry, Baeloth. If you get tired, I'll carry you on my back. I used to-" Damion paused, before looking away. "... Used to do it for a friend of mine. I'm sure you can't weigh more than they did. Besides, what we want is to the south anyways. What Edwin wants as well."

-That- got the Thavian's interest, and he acquiesced the chosen path with a slight nod.

* * *

By the time the refugees finally made it to the Friendly Arm Inn, Imoen was bored. She had climbed all the walls, rearranged some linens, stolen some pantaloons and actually -studied- the spellbook she had started to put together. And so it was that when a dwarf started asking around for a Khalid or a Jaheira and saying he had a letter to deliver to them, she took great interest and introduced herself with a wave as she bound over.

"Heya, I'm Imoen! Auntie and Uncle're just south at the moment, probably still in the Beregost area. I'm headin' that way soon, though! I can deliver that for ya, since they're expectin' me and it after all!"

"Describe the man who gave it to me." The dwarf frowned, holding the letter as he watched the pink-clad human shift and wiggle in place.

"Well, probably Dami, so he's gotta be like six foot tall with really long gorgeous black hair that doesn't seem to tangle no matter what! Dark eyes, slouches? Uses a bow!" She snapped her fingers, beaming, and the dwarf nodded and handed the letter over. "Don't worry, Mister! I'll make sure this gets right to Auntie and Uncle! I just gotta run and get my stuff."

She didn't give Yeslick a chance to answer, bounding away and hoarding the letter to herself.

* * *

Montaron's mood went from bad, to worse. Two extra days were lost as he searched the woods for any sign of the pendant or the people he was after, which meant he showed up at the Friendly Arm Inn almost three days after everyone else, with an entire day lost staking out the road to ambush the group he thought would be leaving the inn soon. Imagine his surprise when, as he entered the tavern and asked discreetly, that nobody matching any of the descriptions he had had been seen in roughly a week.

One of the guards didn't wake up that morning.


	36. Best served by restoration

The archer had been right. Everyone -was- tired and footsore by the time they reached Beregost. Fortunately, nobody had taken him up on his offer to carry them the last few hours, and instead they all (minus Edwin - He opened the door for them as well as booked their rooms) rolled into the Jovial Juggler under the cover of an invisibility spell. After basic defensive spells were put in place, alarm spells were cast and they retired to the four rooms they had decided on: Xzar, and Damion in one, Viconia in the second, Baeloth in the third and Edwin in the fourth.

They ordered their own meals, and spent the time in a mix of eating and sleeping until a polite knock sounded at Damion's door shortly before the evening meal would have been expected. The archer was particularly conscious of how thin the door was, and glanced over to where Xzar seemed to be unconscious in his nest of blankets and pillows on the floor before drawing one of his shortswords and tucking it behind his back. Leaning next to the door against the wall, he cleared his throat and answered the next knock.

"... Hello?"

"Damion?"

He knew that voice. Unlocking the door and opening it, he was greeted by the sight of a somewhat tired looking Xan and relaxed.

"You- How?- When did you-?" Damion jerked slightly as Xzar hauled him back from the door and stepped forward, dagger in hand and waving it wildly in the backpedaling and startled enchanters face.

"YOU! You could be ANYONE! Are you a rabbit? ARE YOU!? You came here to KILL me, DIDN'T YOU! You came here to KILL HIM!"

"Xzar, stand down!" The words were a barked order from the archer, and he pushed down his surprise at how the necromancer flinched and lowered the dagger.

"Have him -prove- he is who he looks like. Have him -proove- it!" The words were hissed out from between clenched teeth as Xzar shook where he stood, and Xan raised his hands and drew his moonblade, laying it flat across his free hand as if to offer it out.

"The only one who could use this is me...?"

Damion reached out as if to try and grasp the offered handle, only for Xzar to smack his hand away and grasp it himself. With a yelp, he recoiled and frowned, aggression bleeding out of his frame. He grimaced, before nodding and stepping back slightly.

"Are you satisfied, Xzar?" The enchanter partially sheathed the moonblade, waiting for the grunt of confirmation before he finished the action and looked to the archer. "We... We need to talk. Something absolutely -dreadful- has happened."

"Come in then." Damion reached and snagged Xzar's arm, drawing him back to the nest of blankets and pillows and setting about trying to figure out how to fix the way the necromancers hand was swelling. Xan followed them in, checking the hall before closing the door behind him and turning back to the two on the floor.

"Imoen's gone."

The archer froze.

"I delivered your last message to Jaheira. They were working their way up the coast after rescuing a Wychlaran of Rashemen from the gnolls, and the next day she was gone. While Jaheira and her husband scour the countryside for signs of her, she sent myself, Branwen and both of the Rashemi through the towns to try and find her." The elf swallowed, shoulders slumping. "... I... Have not found any sign of her."

"How did you find us?" Damion's voice was perfectly level, and he withdrew a cloth from a pouch and wrapped it around the necromancers hand calmly.

"I detect thoughts and scour the streets. I heard a familiar tone, and recognized you from it. I was doing it only in case she-"

The archer held up a hand, stalling Xan's words as he turned to face the Greycloak. "I'm not upset at your methods. I have a few questions, though. One, this... Wichlaran, you called her?"

"Wychlaran."

Damion nodded, before settling his hands on his lap. "Can you set up a meeting between her and I in about fifteen minutes? I still have people looking for me, so it'll have to be just out past the edge of town. Just to the south, I think, about five or so minutes out down the road? I've never met her, and I'd like to. Who is Branwen?"

"The northerner cleric that Tranzig petrified." Xan's words drew a smile from the bhaalspawn, who pushed himself up to his feet.

"Perfect. Can you have her meet us as well?"

* * *

He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, as he stood there with Xzar and watched the group of four that made their way down the road. Xan led them, watching and answering questions as the large man that he remembered from Nashkel (he recalled something about a... Hamster? Miniature giant something.) walked in front of two women he didn't recognize. One was blond, tanned, well built and wearing splint armor with a shield strapped to her back and a hammer leaned against her shoulder, while the other was dark skinned and had a mane of dark hair that cascaded down the shoulders of her robes.

"Xzar? Remember what we discussed?"

The necromancer nodded, and folded his hands behind his back while the archer stepped forward and held up a hand to hail the group.

"Xan! These must be them." Damion gestured to the other three, smiling and beckoning them over even as he unrolled a scroll with his free hand. "Bear with us for a moment."

"What are you-?"

And then the spell went off.

* * *

Edwin was enjoying some peace and quiet in his rooms when someone knocked on the door. He ignored it, until whoever it was slipped a note under the door. His familiar (an imp) collected it and brought it over, and he set his book aside and went to answer the door once he realized the contents of the note.

Damion stood there with a head in his hands. The skin was blistered and burned in certain parts, frostbitten black in others and the once glorious mane of dark auburn hair was short in one section as if it had been cut in a bid for freedom. The lower jaw was missing, and where one eye stared blankly, the other looked to have been popped by an arrow. He leaned in, set the head into Edwin's arms and then turned and walked silently down the hall to his own room.

* * *

_A crow bobbed its head and pecked at the pile of carrion in the middle of the clearing._

_"Are you certain this will work?"_

_"I hope so. We only have two shots at this. Xzar?"_

_There was a rustle of robes, a quiet thunk and then the necromancer became visible a little ways back into the treeline. He drew out a wand and twirled it almost daintily before leveling it at the crow._

_"Fuck -you- in particular."_

_The crow froze, and started to twitch oddly before rapidly expanding. Dark auburn hair spread outwards, and feathers gave way to dark skinned flesh. As it flailed and tried to get to its (her?) feet, the necromancer lunged forward and was beaten there by an arrow that slammed through the crow-turned-Rashemi's eye, downing it. Xzar drew a dagger gleefully, and went to work cutting off the head._

_"That should buy you enough time to get out of here. If anyone asks me, I -definitely- thought it was you bathing, and ambushed you. Otherwise, I'll keep him busy along the sword coast for a while."_

_"Why are you doing this?" Dynaheir turned to where she could see the archer, and his eyes flit across her invisible form before searching for the indent of her feet in the grass. "You owe me nothing, but from what I understand this is the second time you have ensured my survival."_

_"Well, to be fair, Xzar's going to eat the rest of the body, and it's convenient for me because then Edwin's indebted to me. All that I ask, is that you find my sister before you leave so that Xan can take her back to Jaheira. After that, you need to go."_

_Dynaheirs eyes flit to the necromancer as he pressed frost rimed fingers against the face of her doppelganger, giggling as the flesh darkened to a frostbitten black. She had to fight the urge to puke, and turned away._

_"... Yes, I... Think that would be for the best."_

* * *

Damion sat down on the bed, and dropped his head into his hands. Xzar had returned a few minutes before he had, and was currently curled up in the mass of blankets and pillows he was nesting in with a content smile across his face, and the archer almost couldn't look at him.

"Da~Mi~On~...? At-whey is-say ong-wray?"

"Why did you remove the lower jaw?"

There was an almost purr of a sound, before the necromancer reached up as if to touch the ceiling. "Stories-bones-tells would work now, only. No speaking with the dead if the dead has no jawsies to speak with, ne?"

"That... Makes sense. Thank you, by the way. For washing up before we came back."

"Does he want the gibblets this one would have shared with the Cornugget?"

"No, Xzar, thank you for your consideration though." He sighed, scrubbing his hands across his face. "... Am I making the right choices? Am I doing the right thing? I'm lying to people, I'm... I'm letting you -eat- people, Oghma's Boots..."

"Doubt is weakness." Xzar's voice came from far closer than Damion expected, and as he jerked his head up to find the necromancer's face a mere inch away from his own he had to shift back to make sure he didn't accidentally headbutt his roommate.

"A lot of things are weakness."

"Yes, but for you, Doubt will -kill- you. You chose to dance the fine spiders line 'twixt morality and murder. -You- bade him cast the wands spell against yon blackbird, -your- wish was to fool the Thavian and spare a life. Two lives. Four, as would yon elf-man have backed down? Does his debt to you trump his own time with the two?" Xzar straightened from where he had leaned down, scratching thoughtfully at the stubble growing across his chin. "Matters not, ne? No. Does not. Done what is done we have, and do what we must, we _will_. It is mine to keep you safe, mine to keep you growing now that the Cornugget is no more. But you must not waver, must not falter, must not step back. Do so, and you die. And if you die, we die."

The archer watched him for a long moment, before standing and reaching out to grasp the necromancer by the shoulders.

"I almost forgot. I've been saving coins for something for you, but you have to promise me that you'll keep it a secret, and behave while we go and get it."

Xzar blinked blankly for a moment, baffled and fighting the urge to fling himself away from the archer as his skin crawled.

"... O... Otay... But p-p-pwease stawp touching me?"

* * *

They left and circled around the town, avoiding people as best they could and heading east. It wasn't a very long trip, and as they arrived at the Song of the Morning Temple, Xzar balked. He shook, he spat, and he muttered in tongues as he reluctantly obeyed a stern-worded command to follow Damion and to behave. They entered the temple, and after a few moments of quiet conversation with Keldath the archer beckoned the necromancer closer.

"Xzar. I want you to stand there and be as a stone for me. Silent, still, do nothing but breath. Do this for me, and something very good will happen."

His skin crawled, and he sucked in a deep breath even as he closed his eyes and tensed. He could hear quiet chanting, praying, and couldn't fight the shudder that rippled down his spine. He wanted to fight, wanted to be anywhere but that incessant droning hymn that was rising about him, wanted to rip and tear and claw-

_-Hear me, and relax.-_

Xzar wavered, before latching onto that ever so slight echo of a second breath. The singing continued, but he was so enraptured by the tickle of the archers voice through the core of his being that he barely registered it. He was passingly aware of the tingle of magic as it washed over him, and stood still and silent until the sensation faded.

"Xzar, open your eyes. Look at me"

The necromancer did, and blinked over at the archer who was standing there and studying him intently.

"How do you feel?"

"I feel-" He paused, contemplating the question. It was a subtle difference, as he expected to be distracted by something across the room mid-sentence but instead found himself turning the question over and actively seeking an answer to it. As if to experiment, he reached out and hesitantly settled his hand on Damion's shoulder. After a moment, he drew his hand back to himself and stared at it.

"... The clutter and sharp edges of constant distractions are gone."

"One step further on the road to making you whole again, my priest."

Xzar sputtered and wheezed before staring dumbly at the shyly smiling archer.


	37. Best served with food

Xzar almost floated back into his room in the Jovial Juggler. By the time they had made it back to the inn, he was light headed and wobbling, though when asked if he needed help back up to their room he had hurriedly shaken his head. Damion had patted him lightly on the back and mentioned ordering food for himself, to which the necromancer had nodded dumbly and headed up without him.

He slumped to the ground once he had closed the door behind him. He hadn't imagined it. He had -heard- his voice, during the spell that had been cast on him at the temple - a restoration, he theorized, to heal his fragmenting mind - and it hadn't been another hallucination. The little twinges and urges he had felt weren't a side-effect of his insanity, no they were -real-. He wasn't crazy.

Briefly, he considered his options.

Clearly, the Bhaalspawn he traveled with was insinuating that he wanted a following that included at -least- Xzar. Did that imply that he wanted to pursue a path to complete godhood? Would it even work? Was Xzar blaspheming against the memory of Bhaal by following one of his spawn, by dedicating more than his services to one? By dedicating his _faith_ to one?

Simply because he was a spawn of Murder did not necessarily mean that he was going to become a god of the same, especially when one considered the contrast between the different sides the archer was attempting to maintain. He was trying to balance dark acts with light ones. Murdering, and saving lives. Taking them only on his own terms.

Xzar swallowed dryly, thickly, and raked his fingers back through his hair. A crossroads lie before him, and he knew whichever path he chose would end in a crisis of faith. He was one of Bhaal's chosen Deathstalkers, which meant he had a duty to kill as many of the followers of those who had murdered his Lord, but...

"Why are these things mutually exclusive? Is it not still the same source of power?" He muttered to himself and turned the words over, studying them from different angles and thinking it through. It was similar, but no, not the same and that ultimately would damn him no matter what path he chose. Was there any shame in choosing one over the other? He could at least continue to shape Damion, if he pledged his faith. The chances of Bhaal returning were slim to none, after all, and he -was- compelled to obey when it came right down to it. In the event that his Lord returned, he would be one of the chosen close ones. He would be trusted, and would be able to plunge the blade if need be.

He just needed to find the right one.

The necromancer shifted into the middle of the carpet, shifted the tangle of blankets and pillows aside, and settled down to wait.

* * *

Damion carefully balanced the tray of food with one hand as he opened the door with the other, and blinked at what he found. Xzar was kneeling prostrate on the carpet, angled towards the door, and as he stepped in and closed the door behind him the necromancer pushed himself up enough to speak quietly.

"... We must speak. Things must be said, and understood."

The archer cleared his throat slightly, before shifting to sit down on the carpet and set the tray to the side. "Yeah I... I got a little carried away, I'm sor-"

"Stop. Cease. Nyet. Halt. Desist. This is what we must speak on." Xzar slowly pushed himself up until he was kneeling, green eyes intent on Damion's dark ones. "Speak with me. Hear me. Share words with me as if they were water, and find stability. You cannot simply _name_ me 'your' priest with such ease. But you _did_. You are a godling, and whether you intended to or not, you have made the beginnings of a _choice_."

He paused, pursing his lips and spending a moment studying the archer before exhaling slowly. "There are questions. Do you want to become a god? Do you want a following? What manner of god would you choose to be? What morals and ethics, of what peoples, of what occurrences? If you do not -wish- to be a god, what do you plan to do with the Bhaalspawn heritage that flows through your veins?"

"I don't... Know." Damion sighed slightly, resting his hands in his lap. "I thought... Maybe if I became a god I could protect the people I want to. Is it even possible? To become a god, that is?"

"Entirely. You may even have less work than most in their quest to do so. But becoming a god will not ensure the safety of those you choose." Xzar steepled his fingers together, studying his jagged nails. "Do you want to be worshiped? To be praised, to have people -_your_ people- bow to your every whim?"

"... I don't know."

"There are many things you do not know, for all that you flirt with the concept." An accusatory finger was pointed towards the archer, the others folding into fists. "With this thing, you cannot be as a bee on a bud or a bird on a branch, but as a hammer on an anvil. You must be strong, hard, and decisive. You _have_ been, when it came to tactics in combat. The you who had just left Candlekeep would have balked at that much death. You have _grown._ But not enough."

"This... Look, it's been getting stronger. Doesn't that mean I'm in the... In the 'running' so to speak already? If I want to or not, this power is something that's not going to just go away. If nothing else, I want to learn how to use it, I want to learn how it works, and I want to know-" Damion hesitated, before twining his fingers in his lap and twiddling his thumbs slightly. "No, that's..."

The necromancer held his arms out, and intoned a single word. "Speeeak."

"You're not crazy any more, Xzar."

"What does that have to do with the price of rice? Comedy is the twin of tragedy, and the two go farther hand in hand than any one alone. You are the only thing stopping yourself. Is it because you think this thing you want is unethical? I. Am. A. _Necromancer._ What am I going to do, judge you?" The necromancers tone had gone mild, and he quirked a brow.

"... I want to know how it effects you."

Xzar's eyes partially shuttered, and he hummed out a quietly amused tone. "... Do you -like- being powerful? Being able to command people? Leading?"

"Wh-? No! I... Not... Really. Everyone is their own person, and should have free will."

_Liar._

"Liar." Xzar's lips pulled into a lazy grin. "There is also a very big difference between commanding someone, and commanding someone who has no choice. Everyone in our little group has that choice, even me, but I have seen you smile as you arch a shot over Viconia's shield. I have noted the difference between how you used to flinch when someone spoke sharply, and how now you bark out commands and expect them to unhesitatingly be obeyed. Only a fool doesn't -like- being powerful."

"But that doesn't mean I should be taking advan-"

"Is that not why we are all here? Taking advantage of each other because it's _convenient_? I'm here to take a_dvantage_ of the fact that you intend to kill S-" The necromancer grunted as if he had been struck, before looking away. "... A common adversary. Someone who -will- kill me, make no mistake, for my failures, where you... Have not. Seem disinclined to. You don't _need_ me, you _want_ me with you, because I know the most about your heritage and would cringe least at anything you asked. You could find this information _anywhere_ if you looked hard enough, but you instead found it convenient and advantageous to keep me on hand. To keep me alive. To ensure my loyalty _only_ to you, despite knowing that should Ira's aptly named Armored Arsehole command as such, I would immediately turn around and bury a shiv between your ribs."

The archer sat there for a moment, mouth partially open and moving slightly as if he was trying to work out what to say.

"You learned your sister is missing from the main group, and used your weakness - your reluctance to assassinate for the personal gain of others - to find a way to twist the situation _to your advantage_ to both gain you a pawn oathbound to place his services at your disposal for an indeterminate amount of time as well as a secondary pawn to actively search for your sister. Viconia and Baeloth follow you because _it is convenient_ and they gain the advantage of both the face of a human to speak for them and safety in numbers. I may not be as _smart_ as some of the freakish intellects you have gathered, but I am by far the _most experienced_." Xzar folded his arms, staring intently at Damion. "It exactly means that you _must_ continue to take advantage. Because if you stop now, you are _screwed_. You have built a house of cards, and all that keeps it standing is how well you shelter it from the wind. Young as you are, you perhaps didn't realize this is what you were doing, but done it you have and do this you _must_."

"... Xzar-"

"If you truly meant it, if you _really_ mean to make me -your- priest, then you have a need to know these things. Trust me with your back at your own peril."

Damion smiled slightly, reaching over and picking up the tray of food to set it on his lap and start to pick at it. "... Do you -want- to be my priest?"

"Do you -want- to be a god?" The necromancer shot the question back, eyes narrowing. "'I don't know' is _not_ an answer."

"What would it mean?"

"People **_Believing_** in you."

* * *

Imoen frowned down at the letter as she sat in her room at the Friendly Arm Inn. It went into careful, meticulous detail of the contents of the letters found in the bandit camp while making minimal references to people only known as 'Cleric', 'Mage', 'Sorcerer', and 'Puncher'. It mentioned fighting their way through the mine, and that if they succeed they would flood it and how if they didn't, to go and rescue them. The pink thief's frown grew as she scanned the pages once more, trying to see if there was anything, any small message hidden in the letters for her.

She did, but it was near the end.

_I-Still miss,_  
you but i,  
have to break,  
my promise,  
I love you,  
be safe - D

She swallowed dryly, before looking out the window and setting the letter down.

"Where are you, big brother...?"

* * *

"When did you start... You know."

Damion was stretched out on the carpet, one hand behind his head as the necromancer held the other, studying the flexibility of his fingers and trying to determine if there were any physical differences to what would be the norm in a human.

"Anatomically studying people?"

"Yeah. Well, mostly eating them, I guess."

Xzar let out a short laugh, before trying to pap the archer in the face with his own hand. "Would it make you feel better if I said it was only when there was nothing else to eat?"

"It wouldn't be the truth, would it." Damion frowned, glancing over and grimacing slightly at the amused look across the necromancers painted face.

"No, it would not." The words were admitted freely, and Xzar studied the way the archers elbow bent and straightened for a moment. "Ritual sacrifices. To take the strength of another into yourself, and make it your own. Offering only the best parts, and becoming the vessel for that power to ascend to my Lord. Some were less faithful, and would only offer the strength of the kill, but that was so _wasteful_..."

"And necromancy?"

"It was far too wasteful to leave the bodies to rot. Cheap labour, and useful minions to command who could not disobey, who had no moral or ethical quandaries. Some of the most powerful men on the Moonsea are liches, powerful and immortal undead. There are a plethora of advantages, if one can get past what the common layman would consider the immorality of it."

"Did you ever want to know what they looked like on the inside?" Damion's voice was so tiny, so quiet that the necromancer almost missed it and spent a moment peering down, searching his face and finding traces of subdued shame.

"... Well, I rather learned that part before I considered animating them, so not wholly. I already knew by that point. If you do, I'd -hardly- consider that the trait of a monster, if that's what you're thinking. Anatomically speaking it would be advantageous to know the insides of a person, either for medical or murder-based purposes. Thus is what led to my, hmm, refinement of the base knowledge I had. Shirt off."

"Are you going to stab me?"

"Not today, no."


	38. Best served by chair

_Content warning; Big chapter. I considered chopping it in two, but bleh. Effort._

* * *

It was the morning of their second day of rest and recovery, and Damion had called all members of his team into his room for a meeting. Baeloth was the last to arrive, and only did so because the archer had picked the lock on his door and collected him personally.

"Now that we're all here, we need to discuss several things. Namely, our next move." Damion closed the door behind him, and leaned back against the wood with folded arms. "It was going to be head south to kill Dynaheir as quick as possible, so that Edwin would be able to have his goal fulfilled, but with a stroke of luck we've already taken care of that. Which brings us to the long list of people still trying to kill us."

"(I see now why these half-wits require my services) Who is the most dangerous, and who can be left the latest?" Edwin folded his arms, watching otherwise impassively as Viconia glanced between them.

"Jabbuk, how much have you told the rivvil?"

"Not a whole lot. We haven't had a chance to really talk yet." The archer admitted the words somewhat sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. "When it comes down to it, it's namely Montaron's group, Xzar's group and the Armored Arsehole's faction. The first two are intertwined, though I don't think the latter has much to do with them. If we kill Montaron's group, there's a chance still that killing the half-man is going to kill Xzar, which defeats the purpose."

"Alternatively, we can continue avoiding them, hope Baldur's Gate is open now that the bandits in the region have been scattered and wipe out Xzar's group, recover what we need from them and then hunt down Montaron's group." Baeloth yawned widely as he stretched and sat on the edge of the bed only to flop over and stretch out. "To which, I _have_ to ask, what -was- their name?"

"Well... We basically need to wipe out this branch of the Zhentarim. Either that, or sneak in, steal what we need, and leave them none the wiser. As the person who steps the quietest out of all of us, I'd need a distraction and the layout of the building, including parts Xzar doesn't know about, which would mean kidnapping one of them and torturing the information out of them or a lot of luck on the first try." The archer looked to Edwin, and tilted his head slightly. "Any ideas? We're looking for the rest of Xzar's blood that they have."

"Attacking a Zhentarim base in the middle of the city is idiotic at best, suicidal at worst. (It is a wonder these simians survived this long, if they think that is a good idea...!) Your best bet would be to utilize stealth, and as you have at least one competent mage who can pull off an invisibility spell you have a ghost of a chance. Something as important a reagent as the blood of someone they are actively tracking and watching would be heavily guarded if not in use, very likely behind a myriad of magical defenses specifically designed to foil mages and thwart thieves."

"Yes, we have _at least one_ competent caster." Baeloth sneered from the bed, glaring at the Thavian. "It -certainly- isn't you. Damion, -why- do we need this insipid-"

"Baeloth, you're both key players in every version of the plans we're working on. Edwin is necessary because he can walk around without raising suspicion in Montaron's group to gather information and because of his prowess with magic, and you're one of our frontline powerhouses when it comes to wading into battle with another caster." Damion raised a hand, about to continue but pausing and blinking as Xzar rose from where he had been sitting with his back to a wall.

"If we bicker like children and end up fighting, you die. Not because we would kill you, but because there are no entrances to the Underdark for a thousand miles. You're _very smart_. Are you really willing to jeopardize your ability to go _home_ just because a _human_ says he's the better caster? Or are you going to take every opportunity to outdo him and _prove_ yourself superior." The necromancer gestured towards Edwin with a flourish. "And you! Thavian, This one trusts that you will uphold your part of your bargain, as we have upheld ours. There is nothing stating that you cannot _defend _yourself, and you are also _very smart._ You won't _start _anything but you will be very careful to ensure that it is _finished_."

Edwin smirked, bowing slightly before freezing and sneering as Damion chimed in.

"Yeah, even if the Thavian -is- an arsehole, we need him." The archer smiled slightly as the sorcerer snorted and looked back towards the ceiling, somewhat mollified. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and make a prediction that neither of you are going to get along too well with the other, but you're both part of this group. Bicker and insult each other at a minimum, try and be civil, and no attacking each other. I'm looking at you, Baeloth. "

"Yes, yes, whatever you say, oh great and powerful one." The sorcerer waved a hand, sniffing indifferently.

"Besides, you've been here longer. That means you know more about what's going on than he does. That means I trust you with things more than I trust him with them. Edwin has to prove that Thavians can rival the power of the Drow of the Underdark, and that the rumors of the Red Wizards are founded in truth." Damion turned a sheepish smile towards Edwin, patting the air slightly. "I look forward to seeing you prove the rumors true, of course. I'm counting on you to be every inch as good as they say Thavians are but you have to understand that's all I have to go on, having seen you cast nothing bigger than a few burning hands at some spiders on the way back through the Cloakwood."

"It is understandable." The words came out stiffly, as Edwin fought to reconcile his arrogance with the facts woven before him. "All you have seen are the smallest and most insignificant of my spells, and those were used to the utmost of tactical proficiency. (Besides, why would anyone use a hammer when a chisel is all that is needed?)"

"The right tool for the right job." Damion nodded amiably, before looking to the others. "But we've gotten off topic. I'd rather we kept sneaking around and avoiding Montaron until we get to Baldur's gate and steal what we need from the Zhentarim. I agree with Edwin that it'd be almost suicidal to siege the place in the middle of the city, but we might need a distraction of some kind. Once we get there, we can go over the plan in more depth, but I think for now we need to focus on getting there without tipping Montaron off that it's what we're doing."

"Which is why we crept south, correct Jabbuk?" Viconia leaned against the dresser, smirking and enjoying the show. "To ensure that the half-man did not realize our location and to buy time to fulfill what the red rivvil wanted, ensure his services as an ally, then try to determine if killing the half-man would still end the necromancer?"

"Well... Yeah. It's not a matter of -if- we can take his group. We absolutely could turn them to ash. It's a question of do we -want- to end up hauling around a ball and chain in the form of a halfling that's going to try and break free and kill us in our sleep, which would be nothing but a hassle." The archer rubbed the back of his head sheepishly once more, looking away. "Killing Xzar is not an option I want even on the table for discussion. Any questions?"

A glance around the room had none forthcoming, and Damion nodded.

"Alright. I have to run and get something, so... Try not to kill each other while I'm gone, please."

* * *

Edwin had retreated to his rooms immediately after the archer had left, leaving both drow and the necromancer behind.

"I revile the red robed rivvil. Can we remove him?"

"Baeloth, you heard the Jabbuk. He is necessary, for now." Viconia stretched idly, snickering. "Of all of us, he has the best chance at gathering information, though it would not hurt to have a plan in case he does turn on us."

"I don't see why we need him. The Jabbuk can walk around just -fine-."

"Damion is sticking to alleys and constantly hiding." Xzar's voice was quiet, and he had moved back to the carpet and settled into a kneeling position. "He is wanted more actively than any of us, more specifically than any of us, because of his heritage. Something you both should understand well. His enemies know what he looks like."

"What he looks like with long hair, Xzar. He's cut it off." The sorcerer pouted, flopping back onto the bed and sprawling out.

"That is not good enough. What are we to do about the red rivvil if he turns on us?" The cleric frowned, eyes narrowing as she contemplated their options. "He is only a human."

"This one won't help you unless Damion says so. He wants us to 'get along'." Xzar settled his hands on the carpet, and bowed in a seemingly random direction. "... If he betrays Damion, this one will eat him."

"Figures-"

"If he betrays you, Damion will punish him." Xzar cut across the sorcerers words as he pushed himself back up, staring blankly at the wall. "You have watched him grow. Let him blindside the Thavian. Play by the rules, they don't bind -that- tightly. All told, we have it pretty good. You get soft beds. You got two women to feed you grapes last night. We know. Damion said he sent them to you. They were -expensive-."

Baeloth paused, before grinning. "This is very true. He's been good to me, minus a few bumps in the road. I'll see how this plays out."

"This does not mean that we should not have a plan."

"No, it does not." The necromancer agreed, looking towards Baeloth. "Watch each others backs. This one lacks the ego required to goad the Thavian without excessive work. Annoy, likely, but we are mostly harmless, yes? Compete with him. Learn what he can do. If he proves unfaithful, we will know what he is capable of and be able to act accordingly, but do not let him expect it."

* * *

Damion expected the Jovial Juggler to have burned down by the time he returned, carrying a bundle under his arm. He was delightedly surprised to find out that it hadn't been, when he slipped back into the building and made his way upstairs. He was doubly surprised to find Xzar once more kneeling on the rug in their room as if in prayer. He closed the door behind him and frowned.

"... Xzar?"

"Attentive." The necromancer pushed himself back up, settling his hands on his knees and blinking up at the archer.

"Are... Are you going to be like that every time I come back?"

The necromancers eyes partially closed, and he hummed out an amused tone, pursing his lips. "Do you like it when I do~?"

"Xzar!"

"You seemed so -serious-!" The caster put his hands, up, snickering and patting the air. "The opportunity was there, and I couldn't just let it slip by."

"Right, comedy being the twin of tragedy." Somewhat red in the face, Damion held out the bundle. "I got you a new dress, if you're going to be like that."

"You shouldn't have." Accepting the package, Xzar pushed himself up and pulling the string free of the brown paper. Emerald green robes trimmed in an acidic green tone tumbled out, thick plush. "What are...?"

"They were Davaeorns. I had them washed, repaired and dyed in colours I thought you might like."

"Speaking of corpses, I finished reading the letters we gathered from what was left of his corpse. He was working for a man named Rieltar, of the Iron Throne, who has framed a series of members of the Zhentarim to shift suspicions of slavery and the iron crisis away from themselves. We might be able to use this." The necromancer spread the robes out across the chair in the room, stroking his fingers along the fabric. "This is..."

"A robe of the evil archmagi, yeah. You can still fit your scarf around it, too. Three pigs in an iron house makes sense now, but I wonder who the other two are. How likely do you think they are to trade whatever they have left of you for taking down the Iron Throne?" Damion fished out his spellbook before moving to sit down on the bed. "Would they let you go then?"

"Plausibly. Reputation is particularly important. Such was partially why the half-man was sent to monitor me, so that I didn't do anything to stain their reputation. For a mercenary company, having others trust your name is important, and being framed _was_ the reason we were looking into the iron crisis." Xzar stated to shed his robes, dumping them into a pile before starting to don the new set that the archer had given him. It took a few moments, as there were more sashes and layers and it was all in all a little more involved. "... This cloak is a _nice_ touch."

"I made sure that it was weatherproofed. My priest can't go about getting sick because of the weather, now can he." leaning back against the headboard, Damion drew his knees up to rest the book against them and frown down at the characters and letters of the first spell he was trying to make sense of. "... I know you can't say much about it, so I'm just going to talk to myself for a few moments."

"Mmh?"

"Xzar and Montaron were supposed to kill me. The Armored Arsehole probably told them to find anyone who might have survived the attack, but didn't expect there to be three people in my group, and so it was... Sort of useless to hide that there was a bounty on me." The archer frowned. "No, that's not quite right. Montaron didn't really know, did he. Not until much later. So this only reinforces the theory that the Armored Arsehole is a Bhaalspawn. I've almost been told as much, haven't I."

Xzar silently made minute adjustments to the robes, eyeing himself in the mirror nearby.

"But with Ira, killing me wasn't really an option. She slept four hours a night, less than either of yo-them, could hear Montaron when he snuck around which meant that he couldn't be reliably used to kill me. So all that was left was for Xzar to bide his time, whereupon he realized that I'm a Bhaalspawn and-"

"I thought I was hallucinating, you know." The necromancer mused almost to himself, shifting and adjusting the angle of the cloak. "I'd just found one. What were the odds that I'd find another?"

"Really? Well, you were crazy." Damion glanced over, before smiling slightly. "So, in finding out that the Iron Throne framed the Zhentarim, would Xzar be freed from his contractual obligation to kill me?"

"If it was a contractual obligation, yes."

"But it's not, is it. It's a matter of faith."

Xzar frowned at himself in the mirror, and pulled his hood low.

"What do I have to do to make you believe in me so unshakably that the Armored Arsehole won't have a hold over you?"

A mildly amused sound eased out of the necromancer, who turned with an almost comical expression of bemusement. "How do you make people have faith in you? How do you make them believe in you? You give them undeniable evidence that you are their true god. You expose their doubts and you resolve them."

"And what are your doubts, then?" Damion closed his spellbook, before gesturing towards him. "You've heard me, you said. You're compelled when I declare an order, but I consider that a holdover from your faith in Bhaal. You're fanatical in your devotion to him."

"Faith isn't so easy a thing. Easier to describe love." The necromancer flicked his fingers at his reflection before reaching for his green and purple scarf to start wrapping it about his shoulders. "You don't have much in your chosen god. It's something that simply happens, and miracles only reinforce this thing."

"I didn't ask that. I asked what your doubts were."

"... So you did." Xzar turned to survey the archer on the bed, lips pursing into a thin line. "I doubt in your longevity. I doubt in your ability to lead. I doubt that your Bhaal-blessed powers will progress much farther than they have, which is the ability to use a few small spells. I doubt in your ability to keep Baeloth and Edwin from murdering each other. I doubt in your chances with Viconia. Yes, I've seen how you look at her, and how you ran after her only proved without a doubt that this thing has been on your mind. I doubt you will have the ability to kill the Armored Arsehole. I doubt that you will be able to convince the Zhentarim to give me to you in exchange for taking down the Iron Throne. I doubt that your house of cards will continue to stand for much longer. Ira bore the brunt of it upon her shoulders, and her bulk sheltered you from the worst of the wind. Without her, you are nearly nothing. You don't have the cruelty required, and forcing yourself will only make you seem flimsy."

"... I agree with you on Viconia, but I don't on the rest. I have the cruelty required." Damion was rapidly turning red in the face, eyes narrowing as Xzar threw his hands up in a grand gesture meant to encompass the town.

"You do _not_. You couldn't pick someone up off the street and torture them if your life depended on it. You. Would. Balk." Dropping his arms and jabbing his fingers towards the archer, he almost didn't catch the subtle change in the air until it was too late, but by then he had too much momentum. "You are a Child of Murder dependent on the aftereffects of someone much _meaner_ to keep a group of decidedly chaotically evil individuals plus one lawfully evil individual who doesn't have that pre-Cloakwood acclimatization. You _hope_ that diplomacy can keep everything together. Don't _ask_ if you aren't _ready_ for the answer."

* * *

Damion had left quickly after that. He could feel his pulse pounding through his head, and had decided to take a walk to try and calm himself down. His path wandered for a while, before he found himself in front of the Red Sheaf.

_I doubt your house of cards will continue to stand for much longer._

The archer grunted, before shaking his head and stepping into the establishment, intending to get a drink and try to squash his temper down. Two steps in, and a dwarf was hailing him.

"You're at the end of your rope, I'll wager."

His head came up, and he blinked as an axe was drawn.

"Not that it's anything personal, but your time on this mud ball has just come to an end."

Several things flit through the archers mind in that instant as the world around him paused. First and foremost was that he had foolishly left his bow and shortsword back at the Juggler. Second was that his familiar was up his sleeve, and third was the half dozen people who were starting to rise, as if in slow motion, sucking in breaths of air to start screaming at the sight of the axe. He wasn't even wearing his armor; he was wearing what he had bought for street clothes to try and blend in. It didn't take two guesses to realize that it wasn't working.

This led to considering his other options. He could blatantly use magic and risk losing his hand with how the dwarf was already far too close for comfort, he could try and talk to him, he could...

His temper flared. Today had been going fairly well for him, until the latest talk with Xzar. Built up stress over trying to figure out how to manage both Baeloth and Edwin had only been compounded upon by the truth, that he hoped diplomacy would keep everything together, and the realization that he would have to do more than talk to try and keep everything from spiraling out of his control. And now, he was faced with this dwarf who (more likely than not) was after his head because of some stupid bounty that was the root of his problems.

The dwarf was just over five feet in height, armored in a chain shirt and bearing both a shield and a battle axe, and Damion simply did not _care._ He closed the distance, lashed out with a straight right and snapped his left hand down to muckle onto the handle of the axe, pulling it behind him to get clear of the blade. The dwarf grunted, caught off guard by the burst of speed provided by the archers boots, and tried to club him with the shield. It connected, but at an awkward angle as Damion abruptly backpedaled and hauled him along by the battleaxe and into the wall.

To add insult to injury, Crim had taken advantage of the first punch to slither out of Damion's sleeve and spit a stream of blinding, burning venom into the dwarfs eyes before diving into the chain shirt and starting to bite everything flesh-based it could sink its teeth into. Blinded, somewhat disoriented, the dwarf bellowed and tried to wrench free, succeeding and dropping his shield to try and fish the winged snake out of his armor. A chair was broken over his head, sending him staggering.

"YOU DARE!" The archer bellowed, reaching for the next available object (another chair) and breaking that over the dwarfs back before surging back to avoid the swipe with the axe. He briefly considered the table, but knew it would be too heavy and as such went for the candelabra on top of it instead. He threw the candles at the dwarf, before skirting around and trying to drive the tines they used to be secured to the candelabra with into the gaps in the chain armor. He hit, but he knew it wasn't deep enough, and backpedaled quickly once more to get out of range of the axe.

By then, the dwarf had finally snagged the winged snake and tore him out from under the armor. The axe was raised once more, but the third chair that Damion brought down was aimed at the weapon, and both knocked it from the dwarfs grasp and caused the weapon to become stuck in the wood. Another two bites had him letting go of that damned snake, and he stumbled back against the wall, clawing at his eyes to try and get the burning venom out of them.

He didn't have a chance, as by then Damion had dug the axe free of the chair and brought it across horizontally, stepping into the strike and putting the considerable momentum his boots of speed afforded him over short distances into the blow as well. The blade went through one of the dwarfs wrists, sending chain links flying even as it took out half of the dwarfs neck and thunked into the wall behind him.

The archer spent a few moments standing there, trying to catch his breath before glancing around the inhabitants of the common room, taking in the stillness and the silence as farmers and barkeep alike stared back. Swallowing, he shuffled over and retrieved the dwarfs coin purse, removed the bounty notice and set it carefully on the end of the bar.

"... For, uhh... For damages."

With that, he turned to the door and ran.

* * *

"Was I too hard on him, do you think?" Xzar asked his reflection, and sighed as no answer was forthcoming, only the image of an aging human from the Moonsea with black greasepaint on his face and who was starting to desperately need a shave. Briefly, he felt a tickle of what was becoming a familiar second breath and glanced towards the window, and after a moments consideration he decided it would be best if he stayed where he was.

This time, he would have _faith._


	39. Best served with hugs

_Content warning: Indirect naughty bits._

* * *

With the boots of speed, Damion made good time. He wasn't even certain where he was going beyond away from where he had killed the dwarf, and soon found himself nearing the city limits. He slowed, before stopping completely and staring out at the trees beyond the city limits.

"Why am I running?" The archer frowned, before hunching. He had killed the dwarf, but he hadn't been in the _wrong_ to. The dwarf had been after his life. Damion had acted in self defense. Any of the people at the red sheaf could have stood witness for him, and yet...

Swallowing, he scrubbed a hand across his face and took a moment to really look his emotions, and he realized he wasn't running because he had _killed_ the dwarf, but because he was scared of being _caught_ because of it. In all honesty, he hadn't even been all that concerned with his own well being, and had more fought because the dwarf's attack had been the final straw. With his boots, he could have fled if he really had wanted to.

He remembered back to the flaming fist mercenary that had chased Viconia, and thought that perhaps he understood her a little bit better, after that.

* * *

By the time the archer returned, Xzar was starting to get nervous. A full two hours had passed after the faint tickle the necromancer had felt, but once the door opened and Damion stepped back into their room the majority of his tension melted away. Faith rewarded, and no dead Bhaalspawn. Still, when the door opened, he almost cut himself while shaving and frowned at his face as the archer walked over and stood barely a foot away.

"Xzar."

"Attentive."

"You're right. I'm not cruel enough."

-That- got the necromancers attention, though he affected to simply hum inquisitively and finish shaving.

"But I don't need to be. That's what I've got you, Viconia and to a lesser extent Baeloth for. Maybe even Edwin, but I don't know him well enough to consider him for the job."

"A revelation, or an epiphany?"

"What's the difference?" The archer frowned, before leaning to peer at the mirror, trying to catch a look at Xzar's face only to fail as the green hood was pulled lower.

"Please no, my face is naked. A revelation is generally a surprise, where an epiphany comes after an experience. Either one can have religious connotations however."

"An epiphany then." Damion shifted back, moving to sit down on the edge of the bed. "I realized that I was more afraid of being caught having killed people than I am of killing people, but you're right. I wouldn't pull someone random off the street and torture them."

He held his hands out, studying them and slowly flexing his fingers. "... They'd have to have done something to one of my friends. -Then- I'd probably spend a great deal of time hurting them, and even if they tried to get me to stop I'd remember who they hurt of my people and keep going."

"Now _that_ I would believe. I've seen how you get in combat." The necromancer finished his job, using a towel to pat his face dry, tilting his face this way and that to observe his reflection in the depths of his hood before nodding slightly and reaching for the small bottle that sat nearby and starting to dab the contents against his face. "What brought on this epiphany?"

"A dwarf tried to murder me while I was going to get a drink and let off some steam."

Xzar ahh'd quietly, setting the bottle down and reaching for the jar of greasepaint and the brush that sat next to it. "... You survived it."

"I broke three chairs against him and then took out his throat with his own battleaxe. Crim helped by blinding him. We need to start heading north soon. Tomorrow morning? Is two days of rest enough?" The archer frowned, flopping back and scrubbing his hands across his face. "I'd stay longer, but I don't want to risk it, and I think a day and a half is enough of a head start for Dynaheir."

"You are the Leader, Damion. Where you go, I will follow. There we go~..." Pulling his hood down, the necromancer studied his reflection and nodded, the usual greasepaint pattern once more in place.

"That's a grieving mask, isn't it."

Xzar froze, only to slowly turn and stare at the archer who had propped himself up on his elbows. "... How on Faerun did you...?"

"I had a preoccupation with funerary rites when I was younger. It was one of the many attempts of my Father to try and guide me away from actively killing people's pets, he seemed to think that if I had to do all the funerary stuff it would... Well, slow me down, at least. We... Went through quite a few different types of customs, and the Moonsea was one of them. Yours is a little different, though. Why the pointy smile? Isn't a frown more customary? Or was that another of those 'comedy is the twin of tragedy' things."

"... It was. There is no grave for my Lord." The necromancer frowned, watching as Damion nodded slowly and then shifted properly onto the bed and tucked his hands behind his head.

"I understand. I'm going to get some sleep, we've got a long trip ahead of us."

* * *

"If you don't open this door, I'm going to open it myself and drag you out from between those two lovely ladies I sent in there." Damion frowned at the sorcerers door shortly before dawn of the third day, trying not to think about what the grunts and moans signified. He was already fighting a losing battle with his face, and could feel himself turning red. A giggle was the only answer he received, and he steeled himself as he knelt to pick the lock until a hand rested on his shoulder.

"Jabbuk, when you open the door, stay here."

"Are... Are you sure, Viconia? You don't have to go in there." He glanced up, taking note of her makeup covered face and freshly dyed black hair before looking back at the lock.

"We have been in this town for too long, and we are leaving today, yes? He is slowing us down. Besides, the male needs to be put in his place." She grinned viciously at the door, and as he finished his work, pushed it open. She closed it behind her, and the room was silent for a long moment before the door opened once more and both of the courtesans fled, looking pale. Another moment passed, and Baeloth emerged, still pulling on his robes and muttering in Undercommon. Viconia slung his pack out into the hall, and stepped out, answering with a sharp retort before he scoffed and snapped his fingers. His skin and hair reversed colours, leaving dark blue locks swept back from a pale white face.

"Well. -That's- a natural look." Xzar rolled his eyes as he finished coming up the stairs, hood pulled low. "The Thavian is already by the door, ready to go, and Officer Vai is aptly distracted as per our arrangement with the innkeeper. Shall we be off?"

* * *

It was a boring trip north, for the most part. They traveled about a mile east from the road, and the only things that truly bothered them were wild dogs and the occasional pack of gibberlings. Nothing they couldn't handle, and they did so with ease. No, the most exciting thing that they encountered was, in fact, someone that very nearly ambushed them.

It started with the smallest of things.

"... Call me crazy, but I'm pretty sure we're being watched. For the life of me, though, Crim can't find anyone no matter how much he looks." Damion frowned, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. "The strangest part of it though, is that it feels familiar. More like I'm about to be pranked than shanked."

Baeloth quirked an eyebrow, back to his usual dark navy blue skin and white hair colouration, "Would you care to be bait then?"

"Yeah, if anyone pops up trying to stab me, murder them please."

The sorcerer nodded, and the rest of the party gathered around him as they passed an outcropping of rock so that he could weave an invisibility over them as the archer stepped away from the group. It was easy enough to find a wide open space with little cover, and he stood in the middle of it with his hands on his hips and peered around. A glance down showed one pair of bootprints nearby, and from how they were angled he had a pretty good idea of who it was.

Several minutes passed, particularly slowly with how they were all waiting for an attack. Damion mulled over his options and cupped his hands around his mouth as he shouted.

"Whoever you are, you can come out! I'm sure we can talk it out and come to some sort of a conclusion that doesn't involve anyone hurting anyone!"

Another minute passed, and he sighed, shaking his head before he caught the ever so quiet sound of footsteps rapidly approaching.

"I promise not to-!"

"Dami!"

He grunted, recognizing the voice and turning towards the sound as two sets of footprints in the grass rapidly shifted, though one was more defensively than the other and hesitated two steps in. The other continued right up to him and he braced himself as Imoen's invisibility spell faded on impact.

"Hold! Friendly!" Xzar's voice boomed out from beside him, and a tisk sounded from somewhere behind them.

"Here I was, becoming -bored- of blasting bothersome bundles of baying bloodhounds about, and of course the first thing that -isn't- one isn't something I can blow up..."

"Baeloth, it's alright. Immy, what are you doing out here?"

"Lookin' for you, Ninnyhead!" She laughed delightedly, still hugging the archer, who somewhat awkwardly patted her back. "You cut your -hair-!"

"Immy, woah, hold up, time out. You can't -be- here. You're supposed to be with Khalid and Jaheira." He frowned at her, before physically removing her arms from around him and holding her by the arms. "It's -dangerous-, and-"

"It's dangerous for you, too! You're the one with people tryin' to kill you!" She pulled free of his grasp, frowning for a moment before looking concerned. "I was worried! You're my brother! And you kept writing about really scary things, like going into a mine and fighting ogre magi!"

"I-"

"And the bandit camp! Did Ira really kill three Re-?"

Damion clamped a hand over her mouth, and she squealed in surprise and tried to backpedal. He was faster than her though, and followed easily even as he wrapped his arm around her to pull her into a rough one-armed hug. Turning his face towards her hair, he muttered quietly, urgently, and her eyes went wide. Slowly, she nodded, and he removed his hand from her mouth to hug her properly.

"... I missed you too, Immy. If you want me to answer your questions though, you need to slow down. You need to listen, more than you need to talk. Everything I wrote about, it's true."

"Who's 'Cleric'? Who's 'Sorcerer'?"

"Viconia, and Baeloth. We're going to camp soon anyways, so you might as well come with us. I'll answer your questions and let you meet them, but you have to give me time to put my thoughts in order, okay?"

She frowned, wrapping her arms around him and hugging the archer tightly once more. "Okay... But your letters were always so cold! Are they invisible like Xzar is?"

"Yes, they're invisible. They were going to kill you, if we hadn't recognized your voice. There's still people after me, so we're trying to be careful." Damion sighed, patting her back once more before drawing away. "Now, walk with us?"

The pink clad human nodded, before falling into step beside him.


	40. Best served with eggs

"So, Imoen. You remember Xzar, right?"

Damion gestured to the necromancer as he became visible and pulled his hood down, wiggling his fingers and cooing.

"Yup! We met him when he was elbows deep in a wolf!" She waved cheerfully, and then blinked as the rest of the party became visible. "Oh wow..."

"Viconia, Imoen. Imoen, Viconia. She's-"

"-Beautiful!" The pink-clad thief exclaimed as she bound up, clasping her hands behind her back as she beamed down at the shorter drow. Taken aback by the sudden proximity, Viconia scowled and gave a glare that seemed to do nothing but draw a gasp of wonderment. "Your eyes are -gorgeous-...!"

"Viconia is a cleric of Shar, Imoen, and a woman worthy of your respect. She's one of the main reasons we've survived so long." The archer rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, smiling and glancing between them.

"And fully capable of speaking for myself, Jabbuk, but it is nice to know that I am appreciated." Mollified, the glare eased and Viconia eyed Imoen up and down. "Your family is tall, Jabbuk, and seemingly all leg."

"We're not actually related, but that's never really mattered. We grew up together!" Imoen wiggled where she stood, still beaming and offered her hand out for a handshake. "He's my brother from another mother, and I'm his sister from another mister! Is it your brother that's staring at my butt?"

"Hardly. Baeloth is a Barrityl, and I am a DeVir, beyond that we are from different cities." The cleric eyed the hand warily, before hesitantly reaching out to limply shake it.

"Are you saying we all _look the same_, hmm?" The sorcerer folded his arms, affecting to look insulted.

"Nah, you're way more blue than she is and her hair's softer, but you're handsome too! I thought 'cause me an' Dami are family, maybe you two were too." Imoen bounced over once she had reclaimed her hand, offering it out to Baeloth in turn. "Wow, you're short too!"

"They have to be, to fit through the caves in the Underthing." Xzar murmured, weaving his fingers together and ignoring the glares he received from both drow.

"I happen to be exactly as tall as I need to be." The sorcerer huffed, before accepting the hand and shaking it briskly. "It's not -my- fault that the barbarians up here are nothing but _giants_. Still, you're easy on the eyes yourself, even if you_ are_ as bubbly as a beaker full of boiling black bean juice."

"You drink -coffee-?" Imoen gasped, before drawing her hand back and rooting through her pack. "I found this really awesome-"

"Focus, Imoen. This is Edwin, a red wizard of Thay, who just joined our little group after we flooded the mines." Damion's voice gently eased across the conversation, and he gestured towards the conjurer who narrowed his eyes and inclined his head, fingers steepled.

"(And so, the best is saved for last.) Will the bouncy child be joining us for your mission, or are we leaving her at the Friendly Arm Inn?"

"I'm hoping to talk with her about that. We're going to have a private conversation while you guys get the camp settled. Which, really, we should get going and get done. Imoen?" Damion glanced at the pink-clad thief, who pouted but nodded.

"I am gone."

The archer nodded, and beckoned for her to follow until they were almost eighty feet from where the others were starting to set up camp. A quick glance back ensured they were all still there, though Xzar seemed to have angled himself so that he could keep an eye on them while he cleared a space for a fire. Still, they opted to speak somewhat quietly.

"Dami-"

"You have to leave, Imsy. You're not supposed to be here. You were supposed to stay with Khalid and Jaheira, safe and sound, far and away from all of the danger I have coming for me."

"But-"

"_No_. You don't understand how dangerous this is-"

"Stop interrupting me! I'm worried about yo-"

"I'm a Bhaalspawn!" Damion hissed the words out, hands balling into fists at his sides as he looked away. "...A child of the God of _Murder_, and the least safest place for you is anywhere near me. I'm not going to risk you getting caught up in this or captured and tortured to get information about me!"

Imoen gaped at him for a moment, before she stepped forward and gently wrapped her arms around him in a hug. "... You're still my big brother. Nothin's changed, I just understand a little better why you're always so weird."

"I... Thank you, I think." Damion frowned, relaxing slightly and returning the hug as he sighed. "I'm... Look, I'm walking a very thin line here between being a good person and being a monster, and I... None of the people I'm traveling with are -good- people. Xzar and Viconia, for example, I -know- are really good at torturing people when they have to be. Baeloth ran a slave fighting ring called the Black Pits, from what I understand. Edwin is a Thavian who came to this area to kill someone named Dynaheir, and when we first met wanted to hire us to help him with this without telling us anything about it other than that she was 'bad'."

"So that's why you sent Minsc to us!" She let go of him, frowning and rubbing her hands together. "I wondered! You kept sending letters telling us where people needed help, so we went 'round saving them all. We met a whole bunch've other people too! There was a chicken who turned out to be Thalantyr's apprentice! We got him sorted out, and we went to a place called Gullykin, and there was a guy who was really hurt by gibberlings and this girl nearby told us where he was, so we took him to the friendly arm inn after doing what we could to help him! Where's Ira?"

"Ira-" The archer paused, trying to think about how to explain it. "... Ira's gone. She taught me a lot of things and then she had to go back home. I'm trying to figure out a way to make sure she got there okay, but it's... A work in progress. I'm sure she's fine, though, she's pretty tough. I need you to do a few things for me, by the way."

Imoen blinked over at him, following his line of sight and watching the sunset over the trees. "Sure, whatcha need?"

"I need you to not say anything about killing Thavians - Ira did that, technically, anyways - and I need you to help Dynaheir and Minsc leave the Sword Coast. We're heading to Baldur's Gate, so if you can help keep them away from there I'd appreciate it. Also, I sort of sent her to look for you, since Xan told me you'd left the group on your own. She's probably going to check the Friendly Arm Inn for you. We need to keep her and Edwin from meeting, because he thinks she's dead." He grimaced, before shaking his head and sighing. "If you can stay safe, then I won't have to worry about people hurting you, and I can sort this out quicker. It's only until I kill the Armored Arsehole, then we can figure out where to go after that."

"I can do that. I'm pretty good at sneaking people out of places they shouldn't be." She grinned over at the archer, and received a shy smile in return. "But you already know about that, troublemaker!"

"I only got stuck in trouble so much because you climb better than I do, and could fit through the thin windows I couldn't." He slipped his pack from his back and started to root around through it. "Which reminds me... You were always the better mage. Here. Best you take these before Edwin finds them."

"The Thavian spellbooks?" Imoen's interest was piqued, and she accepted the books with a beaming smile across her face. "Aww, thanks!"

"Some of the spells will be missing. Xzar and I picked through them, though there's some duplicates."

"Oh! I got a present for you too!" She shed her pack as well, only to dig through and remove a set of studded leather armor that was dyed black. "I used up the arrows I got for you in Beregost, back when we first split, but I still got a lot of black dye! This armor's really neat, it's s'posed to let you sneak around better. You were better at walking softly than I was, and better at fighting, so I hope it helps you."

Damion blinked at the armor and the bottles of dye that were produced shortly after, and smiled softly as he reached out to give his sister a one armed hug.

"Thank's, Sis."

* * *

Imoen ended up agreeing to leave in the morning, and tucked into Damion's tent to get some sleep after helping him set it up. She was a little weirded out by how Xzar had sprawled near the back of the tent, but ignored it for the most part and the night passed by uneventful beyond some remarks about the pink clad thief's rear smugly shared to the archer after he woke up that had Damion contemplating murdering the sorcerer. He pushed the urge aside, however, and set about studying his spellbook as he idly dyed the fletching of his arrows. It was a quiet morning, all things told, and as the pink-clad thief emerged from the tent she took a good look around and nodded to herself.

She didn't have to worry about him quite as much as she thought she did. While she didn't trust the others in the group, she also knew that the routine everyone was in wasn't a fluke. The drow muttered back and forth in undercommon, the Thavian sat just inside his tent, alternately watching the others and reading from his spellbook, and Xzar...

Imoen was surprised about him the most. She had known him as a crazy shrieking man who flailed his arms and chewed his fingernails to the quick. He had been wild-eyed and jittery, and now when he spoke it was with an almost measured tone. He still said the strangest things, but where before there had been voices and tongues that would have been unexpected, now there was only Xzar.

A Xzar who seemed to curse in unusual languages when he fought to adjust his robes, who watched her brother like a hawk and who slithered about the camp, making sure that things were done, but still only the single Xzar. She didn't quite know how to feel about that, and as such as she was making breakfast she called him over to help.

"You ever cooked sausages before?"

"A few times. They scream in the right circumstances." His tone was mild as he crouched down nearby, and he accepted the wrapped handle of the pan before grunting and side-eyeing her. "... You might want to put that pouch back. You never know what you might find, going through the pockets of a necromancer."

"Ew! Yuck, Xzar! Why would you have people bits in a pouch!" She threw the offending pouch back at him, inherent curiosity having rapidly shifted into disgust after a quick peek inside. "That was a finger! I saw at least two!"

"Why does this surprise the Pink Mink? Better question, could she pass the eggs?"

"Ew ew ew ew...!" Obligingly, she passed the two eggs over, and grimaced. "Please tell me you don't eat those and that they're just necromancy-specific spell components!"

"This one does not eat them and they are just necromancy-specific spell comonents." The words were intoned faithfully, and Imoen blinked at him for a moment before pouting.

"That's not fair, y'know! I can -tell- you're lying. You're just repeating what I said."

"Did the Pink Mink not request to be told such? She certain'y didn't request the -truth-." Expertly cracking the eggs, he emptied their contents into the pan and then tossed the shells into the fire. "Why did she really call him over, hmm?"

"You watch my brother a lot, an' you've been traveling with him for a long time." She frowned, sprinkling a little bit of pepper over the frying eggs. "But you got a pouch full've fingers. Does he know?"

Xzar hummed softly, only to tilt his head and peer at her curiously. A decision was made, and he smiled softly. "... Does he know? Does the leader of the group know the necromancer collects knobbly knuckles to make knucklebones with? He teases you, Pink Mink. This one is very well collected due to the efforts of her brother, and her brother knows he only collects them for scrimshaw and gaming purposes. Does she think so poorly of her brother that she believes he would allow such heinous and monstrous behaviour as -eating- people?"

The lie was a smooth one, relying on her perception of the archer and on Xzar's own seemingly composed state, and he could see the moment she wanted to believe him, considered his words and then watched it transform into the moment that she actually did.

"Besides, her brother helped him with his job in the Nashkel Mines, and this one now owes him. He promised to repay his debts by ensuring his safety. So he watches, and waits for someone with a shiv to try something incredibly _stupid_."

"... No, you're right. He'd probably have run away or puked." She nodded, encouraged by how the necromancer was also nodding and perked up. "Well! I'm glad you're just looking out for him then. Should we add some salt to the eggs?"

"Nay, for the grease from the sausages flavour them well."


	41. Best served with a plan

Xzar watched as Imoen waved to the group (Mostly at Damion, he knew, but that didn't stop him from waving back now did it?) as she headed for the road, and wondered if the next time he saw her, he would have to murder the Thavian. Baeloth and Viconia he wasn't particularly worried about, but if the red wizard found out the truth of the head he had been handed... Well, Edwin seemed the type to meticulously and thoroughly exhaust every option when it came to making the lives of other people miserable. Like a cat that had been spritzed with water, he'd spitefully piss on the couch, claw at passing ankles and shit two inches outside of the litterbox.

There was a helmet that he knew could fix the problem, as hilarious as it would be. But where would he get one of _those_ along the sword coast? Hmm...

The necromancer kept a pleasant smile on his face as the others went to finish packing up their effects and moved to stand beside the archer as he continued to stare long past the point where his sister had vanished from sight. There was a Need in the air, and he could feel the ever so faint tickle of a second breath within his chest.

"Xzar."

"Attentive." It was a simple word, but it meant so much more to him than 'I am listening'. In that moment, it meant he was focused with every ounce of his being on what might be required of him.

"I walk a fine line, between being a monster and being a good person." Here Damion paused, trying to sort through his thoughts as he frowned. "I think I made a mistake. I've invited a delayed blast fireball to walk with us, and I haven't the faintest idea what the timer is set to on him. He'll try and kill her, won't he."

"If, yes. But that's a very -big- if." The Need he felt seemed to be a request for advice, and as he nodded and answered he felt the Need fade.

"After we kill the Armored Arsehole, should we give him an ultimatum?"

Xzar inspected his nails for a moment. They were regrowing nicely, though he still chewed on them from time to time. "... Ultimatums don't generally work, in my experience. But. -But-. A show of overwhelming power will make anyone think twice. He has a fearsome intellect, but is stuck thinking inside his own little box. Be... -Creative-. Make an example."

"I'll balk, and you know that." Damion frowned, wavering, and glanced over towards the Necromancer as he gently laid his hand on his arm.

"I will teach you. Baby steps, first."

* * *

Their first opportunity for a lesson came while traveling the familiar paths along the lakes of Peldvale. Flinds, similar to gnolls but more powerful, tried to ambush them as they searched for a place to camp. They were strong, fairly fast and wielded two-handed swords with ease. They also were no less flammable and no more magic resistant than their lesser cousins, and so within the first two rounds of burning hands, magic missiles and chill touch all four were either killed or weakened to the point where Damion and Viconia could finish them off. Xzar brought the archer over to the most intact of corpses, drew a dagger and started to quietly speak as he started to cut it open.

Predictably, Damion puked, but he did come back after that and watched as best he could. All in all they spent roughly two hours going over the corpse as the others set up camp, and it was decided that they would take first watch that night. The last two hours were spent by Xzar giving the archer as thorough a description of the Zhentarim and their headquarters within the walls of Baldur's Gate as he could, and the rest of the night passed peacefully.

The next day found them, after a few hours of travel, standing before the great bridge that was their final obstacle.

"So, about the plan." The archer cleared his throat, before looking to the others. "Baeloth provides invisibility for everyone except Edwin, who it's 'presumed' will have traveled alone to Baldur's Gate after leaving Montaron's group. Once we're in the city, we head to a building called Sorcerous Sundries. Xzar, Baeloth and I will go up to the second floor. Viconia will know when we need backup, if we need backup, but I'd rather not put all of our best in one spot. I'd take Viconia instead of Baeloth, but your armor's louder than his robes and I'd rather have you and Edwin downstairs in case anyone tries to flank us. To which, I must add, Baeloth please try not to let them know you're there. You're our sort of ace in the hole here, our safety line in case things go south and just think about the looks on their faces as you ambush them. It's your job to buy us the time to survive for Edwin and Viconia to make it up to us."

Damion glanced towards the bridge, before sighing and shaking his head. "If we get through this without having to fight anyone, I'm sure we can find trouble somewhere in the big city, but I'd rather avoid fighting them in their own home considering we need them to willingly give us what they have of Xzar. If they wont? Plan Bee. That will be Edwin's cue to show us what he can do on a large-scale against anywhere from two to five mages, with myself, Xzar and Baeloth playing backup. At that point, your job Viconia will simply be to keep us alive."

"Why is it always called 'plan bee'?" Baeloth blinked, tilting his head. "What exactly -is- a bee?"

"Bees are flying insects, about an inchish long with black and yellow stripes. They usually leave people alone, but sting when threatened. So when we're threatened, we use 'plan bee', see?" The archer smiled slightly. "As for how Viconia will know when we'll need backup - I could see you were about to ask, and I did think about it - take this. It'll let you know."

The cleric frowned, before reaching out to accept the pouch as it was offered and teasing it open carefully. Looking within, she snickered and nodded, attaching the pouch to her belt. "Well thought through. If the Red Rivvil must burn the building down, where do we go to after?"

"Unfortunately, the sewers. Which is the other reason why I don't want to have to fight them when we go there. It's going to reek and that's no place for us to have to be confined to."

There were nods of agreement among them, and even Edwin found himself unable to find much in the way of flaws with the plan.

"If we're ready to go, Baeloth?"

"With my usual panache, I presume."

* * *

Edwin was stopped on the bridge by a flaming fist mercenary who exacted a toll (which was paid) and after some back and forth and quiet prodding (Why _yes_, he was involved in the recent troubles, and knows the people who helped resolve them,) spoke with a man named Scar who asked for him to find those who had helped and tell them to come and visit him within the city, advising that they should check out the Seven Suns building while they were at it. Edwin agreed to make sure that they were aware of it, and swept past him into the city.

It was a little harder, keeping track of everyone who was invisible with the inability to see everyone's footprints against the cobblestones. They kept losing one another, almost bumping into each other and eventually sorted out a pattern where they each kept a certain direction away from the Thavian who acted as their beacon, with the archer remaining beside him to help direct him. In short order, they made it under the gate and paused for a moment to study the city itself.

"I do not mean to alarm you, Jabbuk, but that old man is staring at us." Viconia's voice hissed from nearby, and Damion blinked and looked around until he found him. There was no mistaking who he was, in familiar red robes and bearing a ridiculously large pointy red hat, and the sorcerer hissed from somewhere behind and to the Bhaalspawns right.

"What? That's impossible! I cast the spell myself."

"Baeloth, I... It wouldn't matter who cast it, I don't think in this case." The archers voice was quiet, and as Baeloth scoffed he continued. "I didn't recognize him the first time I saw him, but it made sense when I realized that Ira had gone and hid. He matched some of the pictures if you aged them a bit."

"Right, and just -who- would this old rivvil be then?" The sorcerer sounded like he was sneering, Damion frowned.

"Do... You know who Elminster is? Have you heard of him, in the Underdark?"

"Some sort of human mage who's supposed to be some sort of a big deal. Nothing compared to Gromph Baenre, of course."

The archer ahh'd, hunching slightly as Elminster approached. He glanced to the side to see that Edwin was rather stiffly inclining his head.

"Ho there wanderer. What brings a Thavian through the city of Baldur's Gate?"

"... I am simply passing through." The words were almost clipped, and Damion stifled a snicker as he watched the conjurer start to sweat.

"I see, I see. Thy travels take thou far abroad the country." Elminster looked squarely at the archer, and smiled under the beard. "The company thou keeps has not improved much, though thy presence has improved them by leaps and bounds. If a suggestion had to be made, it would be to step lightly. There are many factions at work within the city, and while some may prove beneficial, the same cannot be said for all of them."

Damion smiled slightly, nodding and pressing his hands together with a slight bow as a sign of thanks, and received a nod in return.

"For now, thy time may be better spent relaxing. I know thus is what I shall do. There is a pastry shop just down the road, to which I shall avail myself of. Safe travels, young Thavian." Another nod was shared between Elminster and Edwin, and the older turned and ambled idly down the road and into one of the shops there. A moment of silence reigned until the conjurer muttered under his breath to where he had last heard the archers voice from.

"... You did not tell me you knew Elminster Aumar! (A connection such as that would have been particularly useful...!)"

"I didn't really know who he was at the time. He sent a warning to my father, of an ambush. He... Didn't make it. I try not to think about it." He shifted slightly, not that Edwin could tell, and shook his head. "We should get going."

"(That would explain much.) Is that the Armored Arsehole then, the one who killed him?"

"Yes."

* * *

It wasn't difficult to find Sorcerous Sundries. Xzar started muttering as soon as they caught sight of the domed building, and Damion only realized that he was praying because he lingered back a half-step and tried to eavesdrop. He understood why it wasn't a prayer to himself, though that didn't make him frown any less.

"Alright, remember the plan. Edwin?"

The Thavian nodded, and opened the door. They all filed in as he lingered, studying the interior before sweeping in and starting towards the presumed proprietor behind the counter, engaging him in small talk about the availability of his spells. Xzar, Damion and Baeloth made their way upstairs as quietly as they could, and as they finished making their way up the stairs. Three mages were practicing spells while a fourth one stood at a semi-circular table, and one of shook his blond hair out of his eyes and adjusted his black and orange robes, frowning as they entered before raising a hand.

"Intruders. Invisible, it seems-"

"William, William, do I -look- like an intruder to you~?" Xzar's voice rose in pitch at the end of his sentence, trying to emulate the edges of the insanity he once held.

"Xzar? Well then, the halfling failed it seems. Thank you, for saving us the trouble-"

Damion slapped a hand down on the table, and the invisibility that shrouded him faded. "I have something you will want to see, before you continue that sentence with 'of hunting you down'. It pertains to the activities of the Iron Throne."

William frowned, glancing towards the one at the table and inclining his head as he was waved aside.

"We'll hear you out, then. You have ten minutes."

"Great. Which of you is in charge, then?" The archer looked between the four, noting reactions and following their collective looks until the redhead at the table spoke up, raising a hand and accidentally knocking over a stack of parchment. He scowled, but otherwise ignored it as he stepped forward.

"I am. You may call me Niemain. I currently serve as Xzar's superior, as well."

"Great. I'm certain you're aware that the Iron Throne has been framing the Zhentarim for a variety of things, from the iron crisis to the movement of the slaves they used to fill their personal mine with. Xzar." A pair of letters appeared on the counter beside him, and Damion picked them up and offered them out. "Here's more proof, if you doubted your own sources. I could say that we've been working to undermine the Iron Throne for altruistic reasons, but I'd be lying. I've been doing your job for you, all while you've relentlessly attempted to exterminate one of my assets. I'd charge my normal fee, but I have a specific request in mind instead."

Niemain's expression eased slightly as he gestured for one of the others to collect the letters for him, and once they had them in their grasp and had started to read them they were delivered to Zhent in charge himself.

"And that is that we cease our efforts in regards to the traitor, I presume?"

"To start, as payment for drowning the mines and the Iron Throne forces within. I'll even do one better and give you the head of the head of Rieltar's operations in the area, one Davaeorn." Damion affected boredom as the ginger haired black robed mage scowled at him and then looked back to the papers in his hands.

"Very well, you have an agreement. We'll arrange-"

"Xzar." A slightly wet thud squished onto the counter, and a bloody sack materialized. "Thank you, Xzar."

"My pleasurrre~..."

"I apologize in advance, my pet Cornugon damaged the face a little bit. One head, delivered as promised." The archer stretched idly, yawning widely as he did before settling his hands on his hips.

"Oulam, inspect it." Niemain snarled towards the blond mage wearing purple and red robes, and as Davaeorn's head was removed from the sack he nodded.

"That's him, Sir. Minus the eyes."

"Well. A timely delivery then. A pleasure doing business with you." Niemain bowed slightly, trying to keep the sneer off his face and failing. "If there's nothing else-"

"Oh, there is. One more thing, actually." Damion drawled casually, tucking his thumbs into one of his belts and peering at the four visible mages in the room. "I can take care of the rest of your Iron Throne problem, but if I do this thing Xzar belongs to me, and only me. I want everything of his that you have, be it hair, bone, meat or blood. Anything he has in storage. Any of his personal effects. I want all of it. Keep in mind, I could just as easily work for the Iron Throne once I step out of the door. They made a -very- appealing offer, but I figure you can use this as a better one. Oh, and I expect to be paid in _advance_."

Niemain sputtered at that, indignant anger flashing across his face before he was able to stifle it and take a good, long look at the archer as he smiled softly and continued.

"I have three -very- powerful entities waiting for my return. I'd suggest you make your decision quickly."


	42. Best served with options

Some slight haggling and the delivery of a bundle of personal effects later, the party sat in their respective rooms in the Elfsong. Xzar and Damion roomed together, while Viconia, Baeloth and Edwin took their own rooms respectively. It should have been a happy occasion. For one, at least, it was not.

"How could you have _possibly_ thought that giving them your hair as collateral was ever a _good_ idea!" The words were hissed out by a rapidly pacing necromancer as he gestured and fought the urge to claw at his face or pull his hair out. "I am worth _less_ than you! Your blood alone-"

"I know, Xzar."

"-would act as a powerful reagent. They could Geas you! They could _murder_ you in the middle of the night, and harvest you for _parts_! Now they can find you, wherever and _whenever_ they choose! You pulled me out of a box and sat yourself _firmly_ in my place! You-"

"If it fits, I sits."

"-You-You-!" Xzar wobbled slightly, before slumping down to the ground. "... The elf was right. We are _doomed_. I'm going to _die_. You're going to _die_. The Zhentarim will murder us both. We-"

"I -do- have the spell 'Non-Detection' memorized, you know."

"- gonna _die_." The necromancer threw himself backwards onto the floor from where he was sitting, sprawling and looking despondently up at the ceiling. "You could have neglected to re-weave my _sanity_ so that at least I wouldn't have minded walking into a deathtrap."

The archer smiled slightly, leaning forward where he sat on the edge of the bed. "But I _need_ you sane. Listen to me, Xzar. This is going actually pretty smoothly. We're going to the Armored Arsehole just as soon as we find out which of the Iron Throne's leaders he is. You can't tell me, so I have to find out the hard way. Tonight, once the Zhentarim are certain I'm staying in the Elfsong, I cast Non-Detection and we get out of here. We head in to where the Iron Throne building is, and we-"

A knock at the door startled Damion, and he had pulled a dagger from his boot before he realized it wasn't anyone trying to break down the door. The necromancer sat up, and at the second knock murmured the words of a spell and pushed himself up, ghosting over to the door. He cracked it open, one hand tucked behind his back.

"Something troubling you?"

"Second-in-Command of the Flaming Fist, Scar, wishes to speak with your group at the Flaming Fist headquarters in town."

"We have done _nothing_ wrong, so be gone-"

"He wants your help."

Xzar paused, before turning slightly to glance at the archer and gauge his response. At the frown, he hesitated a bit longer, but then opened the door fully as he was nodded at. A woman stepped in, clad in full plate and lacking any visible weapons with her helmet tucked under her arm, and as she passed the necromancer he closed the door behind her quietly.

"I am Officer Maureen. I will be blunt, we know you are here to interfere with the Iron Throne. I have been sent to both give you advanced warning that any vigilante work is illegal, and direct you to speak with the Second-in-Command of the Flaming Fist, Scar. If you work for the Law, you are not considered a vigilante but instead a mercenary subdivision."

"You seem awfully well informed." Damion folded his arms, mimicking the sharp-eyed squint he had seen Ira do on more than one occasion. "I don't suppose you'd consider telling me how the Flaming Fist learned of this, would you?"

There were hints of subdued confusion on her face, and she stepped closer. "We have our sources. I'm to escort you to him, as you seem disinclined to go on your own."

"I'll met you downstairs then-"

"So you can sneak out the window as I wait? This isn't my first escort mission, Sir, and by all accounts you don't have it in you to strike down an unarmed foe who isn't proving hostile."

The archer went a little red in the face, and grabbed his pack before storming towards the door.

* * *

The trip there was uneventful, even if they weren't invisible. Everyone had their hoods up, and stayed together until they reached the large stone castle-like structure that dominated the south-western side of the city. They were ushered into an office, and found themselves standing before the desk of the man they had been asked to speak with on the bridge.

"From the look of you, I would never have thought you had the clout to strong-arm the Zhentarim into handing over one of their assets to you." The black haired, weathered man sitting behind the desk smiled amiably, hands folded on the wood in front of him. "Congratulation are in order, I believe."

"We haven't been in this city for more than a few hours, and there wasn't anyone else in that room. How do you know about anything that happened, or that we even met with them?" Damion was working on that sharp-eyed squint once more, and Scar frowned before leaning slightly in.

"... Do you need spectacles? Come closer, if you are having trouble seeing me."

"Oh, no I'm fine. I'd much rather you answer the question." Feeling his ears go red, the archer was glad he still had his hood up. "I thought the Zhentarim weren't so sloppy as to let meetings slip."

"Everyone underestimates the Flaming Fist. Perhaps this is a good indicator that you should spend less time posturing and more time aware of your surroundings. You are hardly the only one with a few tricks up their sleeves, though for someone so young you certainly are learning to use them well. But you are just that; young, and learning. But I digress, we are not your enemies. In fact, we are allied in our common cause. If you perform a few small jobs, we will give you everything we have on the Iron Throne."

"I want writs of pardon and sanctuary for two members of my party as well."

"Ahh, yes, the drow. That can be arranged, but it will only work if they encounter any Flaming Fist. They will be held accountable for their own actions, even with these writs." Scar gestured to Baeloth and Viconia, before folding his hands on the desk once more. "I need a decision before you leave, of course."

"Before we agree or disagree, what do these jobs entail?" Damion folded his arms, and could feel the eyes burning holes in his back.

"First, you would investigate the Seven Suns building. I have a friend who went in, and never came out. Jhasso. Tall, grey haired, human. Crooked nose. Get him out alive, and I'll double your reward."

"I'd like to confer with my companions."

Scar smiled. It was an easy smile, almost gentle, and held a kernel of hope. "There is an office next door, as you leave this one turn left. It's the first door there. I hope you decide to help me."

* * *

The door closed behind the last of them as they finished stepping into the side office, and they frowned as they looked at each other.

"... You asked him for a writ of pardon and sanctuary for me, Jabbuk." Viconia was the first to speak, and did so hesitantly. "Why...?"

"I know what it's like to be hunted because of your heritage, and if there's anything I can do to even slow that pursuit down, I plan to." The answer was simple and honest, and Damion moved to sit on the edge of the desk as he studied each of the members of his party. "You all take care of me, so why wouldn't take care of you? We're a team. Which, I must add, since we're a team I'd like your opinions on going to the Seven Suns. The Flaming Fist could be a very powerful ally, and it'd benefit us to have them in our back pocket if we need them. There's also the matter of the reward they're offering us, which we would split equally if it's gold or decide who the item best suites if it's an object."

"(The little chimp shows a spark of intelligence. Is this becoming a habit?) To be sanctioned to use force in the city would be incredibly advantageous, and would open doors that would otherwise be closed to us-"

"On the other hand," Baeloth interjected, leaning casually against the wall and grinning as Edwin glared at him for daring to interrupt. "It could also make other factions in the city think that we've sold out to the local authorities, and be less forthcoming with information if we need it."

"It would work best if we could somehow play both sides against the middle." The necromancer drawled from where he had plopped down into the chair, kicking his shoes up onto the desk. He idly started to cast, subvocally murmuring sounds before peering about the room. "... Which would mean publicly denouncing an alliance with the Flaming Fist, while completing their objectives and reaping the rewards. With how our meeting with the Zhentarim was known not more than an hour after the fact, and most of us were -invisible-, we're going to have to find a new method if we wish to go that route."

"Was that... A detection spell?" The archer blinked back at Xzar, who nodded.

"A search for divination. Illusion may be outside the reach of my range, but divination has always been -helpful-. The room seems clear." Green eyes partially lidded, catching the subtle twitch of the Thavian. "It seemed prudent, considering we are in proverbially hostile territory."

"Viconia? Any advice?" Damion glanced at the cleric, noting the frown on her face and mirroring it. "... Is everything alright?"

"Mm? Yes, Jabbuk. I will follow your lead in this. A writ of such would be very helpful. I am... It seems too good to be true, so..."

"So you're looking for any traps or twists in logic that might enslave you or put you at a disadvantage. I understand, and I want it to be made clear that I don't expect anything from you for this. You've healed us all and kept us alive countless times, so if this would even start paying you back for that, I'd do it just for that. If you decided to leave immediately after, I wouldn't hold it against you. I'd be sad to see you go, and probably die shortly after your absence because of my own fool fault, but you're free to do as you wish. No strings attached-"

"Abbil, you are rambling." The admonishment came with a faux scowl, and Viconia pursed her lips as she tucked her hands on her hips while watching the archer turn slightly red and duck his head. "You would suffer quite the loss if I left, and your pitiable mewling is endearing. If we do this, and obtain these writs, I will still stay until we have done what you need, despite how working with those who hunted me for so long makes my skin crawl."

"R... Right, I appreciate that. So, I vote we work with the Flaming Fist, but do so subtly." Damion cleared his throat slightly, and looked to the others. "Baeloth? Edwin? Xzar?"

"I don't like the thought of working with them, but I can see I'll be out voted between Viconia and Xzar."

"Why? Just the premise of working with someone in a lawful position?"

"Largely. Law enforcement always makes my skin cra-"

"I think it would benefit us to work with them, but subtly." Edwin interjected smoothly, earning him a glare from Baeloth as the sorcerer folded his arms. He smirked and inclined his head. "(The coal-ape thinks he could get away with cutting across my words. Pfa!) The question becomes how."

"All three have merit." The necromancer idly started to inspect his nails, feeling along the rough edges. "We agree that working with the Flaming Fist _sucks_. They'll hold us to their standards, find us lacking their moral code and respond with disgust to our methods. _But_. But. Working with them publicly offers us protection otherwise not afforded to our kind. To play both ends against the middle will be... Tricky."

"It doesn't particularly matter if our temporary allegiance falls one way or another, considering our endgame, so let's try that and if it doesn't work we're no worse for wear. We already know that the Flaming Fist wants our help badly enough to offer two drow sanctuary." Damion smiled slightly, hiding his surprise that Edwin pledged his support the way he did. "As Edwin says, the question is how. Any ideas?"


	43. Best served by canvas

They ended up lounging in the office they conferred in while Xzar muttered to himself and searched through his spellbook. At a certain page, he paused, turned the book upside down and folded one of the pages in half as he sequestered himself in the corner. Edwin picked a corner on a diagonal opposite from him, and did much the same while Damion leaned over the necromancer to peer at the book until he was irritably invited to hunker down and join Xzar.

One hour, spent to memorize a single, lowly spell a first-year spellcaster at any academy would have in their spellbook. Baeloth found it funny that the mighty Thavian wasn't -prepared-, and that for all his power he had to scramble just as much as the other wizards. His snide comments earned him a glare even as he innocently picked through one of the mostly-empty bookshelves. Viconia simply sat in the chair and contemplated Shar.

"Alright, is everyone good to go? Edwin?" Damion stretched, barely able to make heads or tails of the necromancers cipher.

"(As if the little chimp understands how difficult an undertaking it is to swap a spell so quickly...!) Yes, yes, I am prepared. Is your pet?" Snapping the book shut, the Thavian pushed himself to his feet and schooled the sneer off his face.

"Well, for starters, he's not my pet." The archer frowned, peering over at Edwin as he pushed himself to his feet and offered a hand out to help Xzar up.

"Your buggery-buddy, then." There was a sneer at that, and the necromancer burst out laughing, only partly because of how red Damion had turned.

"Edwin Odesseiron, listen as I speak. Xzar is not a boyfriend, neither a pet, nor is he a plaything." The archers voice had gone quiet, and he stared at the Thavian as he spoke. "He is my _Muse_, my _Guide_, and my _Priest_, and I don't take kindly to people besmirching him that way."

"(What the Devil is the idiot Chimp-boy going on about now?) Excuse me, your priest? Is not the party cleric the Drow?" Edwin frowned, somewhat off balance and cautious as he glanced to where Xzar was standing quietly, hands folded behind his back and head tilted so that the shadows of his hood hid his face.

"I recall we refrained from relaying that to the Red Robed Rivvil, Jabbuk." Baeloth smugly turned around from where he had moved on to study one of the paintings, clasping his hands together. "-Pleeeease- can it be me who tells him? -Please-? I never ask for -anything-! I want to see the look on his face as he realizes we all knew and he -didn't-."

Damion grunted quietly, inclining his head and drawing a gleeful grin from the Entertainer as the sorcerer properly faced the Thavian and drew himself up.

"Damion here is a Child of Murder. A Son of Bhaal. A prophesied harbinger of chaos and destruction, a Godling, a Bhaalspawn. He drowned an entire mine full of his enemies simply because their -Boss- wants him dead, to send a message." Baeloth gestured, dipping into a slight bow towards the archer. "Their Boss killed his Father, you see, trying to get to him. He has trained with the Brutish Cornugon, dined with the Cannibalistic Zhentarim, pillaged and plundered the spellbooks of two dozen well-protected mages and decapitated a dwarven assassin -with his own axe-. He left his life behind in a bid for revenge, and will not stop until he has the head of the Iron Throne leader responsible for this at his feet. Murder runs through his veins, and his bones are black with the evil of his divine heritage!"

Viconia stifled a snort, looking away as the sorcerer straightened with a flourish and settled his hands on his hips.

"You may think him a young and untrained Chimp, but he is hunted more than the rest of us combined. And we have -Xzar-, who was hunted by the Zhentarim because he had a disagreement with-"

"Baeloth?" Damion interjected as gently as he could, drawing a long-suffering sigh from Baeloth as he turned and gave the archer his best pout.

"You've -ruined- it now. What."

"How did you know about the dwarf? I thought I was alone." The archer managed a slight, apologetic smile, raising his hands. The sorcerer coughed delicately and looked away.

"I may or may not have followed you. You had a spat with Xzar, and you -are- my ticket home, do recall. I couldn't have you wandering off and getting yourself killed, and I didn't step in because I wanted to see what you were capable of. I thought the candelabra was overkill, though."

"To be fair, I was entirely unarmed at the time." Damion muttered under his breath defensively.

"The -point- being that Xzar is in essence his Faithfully Devoted bodyguard, and I honestly think Damion would accidentally murder anyone that tried to have sex with him, because of both his heritage and how long he's been hunted. It'd be like trying to imagine Viconia-" Baeloth paused, and didn't even bother to turn around to acknowledge the red-eyed glare he could very likely feel painting a target across his side. "... Well, nevermind -that-. But you get the -idea-. Did you not wonder why he gets that look on his face when he shoots something in the eye, as if he's getting the best quim in all of the realms? A -powerful- ally. And one that asks for your -advice- from time to time. It doesn't take a genius to figure out how valuable he is as an asset, and I never took you for -dense-. The funny thing is, he's managed to make people -like- him, even with the deaths of thousands under his belt."

Edwin didn't have much to say to that, and they all filed out of the room to give their decision to Scar as the words hung heavy in the air.

* * *

"We want to keep our relationship with your faction as subtle as we can, but we're willing to temporarily hire our talents out to the Flaming Fist. We've agreed that we can search the Seven Suns, but I want to forewarn you that if we get attacked in there, we -will- leave bodies behind." Damion studied the Flaming Fist's second-in-command as he spoke, noting posture and expression and shifting subtly to square his shoulders ever so slightly. "We're not in the habit of letting ourselves be attacked and letting people get away with it."

"Understandable." Scar inclined his head slightly, before leaning back in his chair. "I'll leave the method of communication up to you, so long as it doesn't entail anything illegal."

"We have that covered, so long as your office isn't warded against minor alteration magic." At the quirked eyebrow, the archer raised a hand. "A simple message spell. Is that something that can reach you here?"

"I'll see to it that it can."

* * *

Ira sat in Ten's living room, watching the incubus through the doorway to his gallery as he painted. He was blindfolded as he worked, and he did everything from throw paint to scream. All in all, it took almost an hour before he threw himself down into the chair that sat just slightly left of the center of the room, chest heaving as he shook and recovered from the ordeal. Only then, did the cornugon haul herself to her feet and pad into the room.

"You done, then?"

"See for yourself."

Obligingly, she poked her snout into the room and twisted to see the results. It was one of the larger canvasses she had seen him use, and it was covered in paint that looked to have been applied meticulously over the period of far longer than an hour. It depicted a dissected side-view of a two story building, and included the basement beneath. Strange, gangly figures that lacked faces roamed the halls, and one lonely individual seemed to be huddled in the basement, as if hiding. Outside what could have been considered the back door clustered a handful of figures; green robed, red robed and black robed, armor plated and clad in black leather. Out of all of them, the last one had an abnormal shadow that seemed to be trying to crawl up the back of the leather, and haloed around his head sat a ring of red tears.

All in all, it was almost as long as she was, and half as tall.

"And this is some sorta divination? Looks like shit."

"It's a -fun- type of divination. But look, see? They draw closer to achieving your goal. If they succeed, who knows, maybe the magic will let you go back." A pale hand stretched out in a languid gesture, fingers curling as a mug of coffee drifted over to his grasp. "Would you visit them?"

"Why in the nine -hells- would I do that?"

"I dunno. Thought mayyybe you might miss them."

Ira snorted, nostrils flaring as she leaned her bulk against the wall, folding her arms. "Only reason I'm here is 'cause you literally followed me for three days, and wouldn't shut the fuck up until I did."

"Well, yes. I did do that. But don't you want to know how the Bhaalspawn is doing?" He removed the blindfold, dropping it carelessly to the floor and side-eyeing the devil. "See how close or how far he is away from killing Sarevok?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because even if you aren't taking part in it, I -am- obligated to fight in the Blood War." Ira rubbed at her temples, feeling a headache looming. "And before you ask me again why I have to fight in this war, recall that we don't all have your aptitude for wasting time and fucking around. I have a job to do, and I intend t'do it."

"But you also had a job to kill the guy, and you -didn't-. You're leaving something undone-"

"Because I was an -idiot- and got sidetracked. What is the weight of one mortal soul, compared to the weight of the Blood War? Hmm? Answer me thus, Meatbag." The cornugon's lips curled away from her teeth as she snarled, and narrowed her eyes as Ten almost lost his seat laughing.

"What a -temper-! Peace, peace, I thought you knew? He plans to capitalize on his heritage, and become a Divine. He's going to need allies-"

"So offer yourself. I have a god."

"You have a Master who throws you at the forces of the abyss like so much fodder through a meat grinder. Like endless waves across countless seas and oceans, the tides turn and shift but never actually -go- anywhere." The incubus spoke in a particularly matter of fact tone, dropping the jovial act he had worn moments ago as he stood up and tucked his hands on his hips. "You touched his life, and one day he'll seek to touch yours, mark my words. You didn't -have- to give him your name, but you did. You didn't -have- to taint his familiar with infernal blood, but you _did_. Like it or not, your thread is snagged on his."

"It's your fault-"

"-I- did _not_ choose the Bhaalspawn that was thrown off a rooftop for you, you did that all on your onesie. It's how things worked out, and you need to adapt to it lest it break you." Ten drew himself up, wings partially flaring as he raised his hands and peered through them to frame the cornugon with his fingers. "Divinity tends to do that, you know. Your thread snags on theirs, and their will spreads, altering things around them. Are you so sure that it was -me- that succeeded in cracking your lawful core? Sure I planted the seeds, but even I couldn't have hoped for you to subtly shift so soon."

* * *

"... Viconia? Are my bones actually black? You're the one doing the healing, so... How... Would you tell?"

"No, Abbil. Your bones are as white as any."

"Oh. That's... I'm... Half disappointed, half relieved."


	44. Best served in a sewer

Damion didn't think he could ever get used to fighting in close quarters. There wasn't a whole lot of room to move, after all, and movement generally meant increased odds of survival. It was easier, far easier to fire arrows over Viconia's shoulders and take down whatever enemy she had bottlenecked. Harder, though, to do this thing up stairs, and he learned this fairly quickly as the merchants-turned-doppelgangers surged forward and battered themselves silly against the clerics shield. Where he was unable to arc a shot quite that well (if he aimed around Viconia's torso he had a better chance of hitting her shield than passing her by, as practice had taught him) the wizards in the group were under no such limitations, and downed both under a barrage of magic missiles that left it nebulous as to who's missiles had actually downed who, as Xzar added a few of his own to the mix as well.

It didn't take long, as they headed back downstairs, for the others to turn as well. Not for the first time, the Archer wished he had gotten the first merchants name, and toyed with the idea of finding out just who it was that had given them warning as to the nature of their current foes. Still, the highlight of the encounter was that while he was on the stairs he had an almost unimpeded view of the doppelgangers and it became infinitely easier to pick them off as the cleric once again bottlenecked them, this time at the bottom of the stairs. Of the two that had decided to try their luck climbing the sides of the stairwell, the necromancer 'persuaded' them otherwise with swift slaps of a chill touch across their grasping hands.

It was a much shorter fight in the basement, considering there was only one final doppelganger down there. A moment of searching turned up an older human with greying blond hair who was almost frantic with panic and paranoia. It was only on mentioning Scar had sent them that he finally started to relax, and agreed to go to the Flaming Fist compound just around the corner.

"Xzar? Inform our employer that the doppelgangers are dead and that Jhasso should be on his way, barring an ambush."

The necromancer gave Damion a slight bow before drawing out a thin piece of wire and murmuring against it. A thoughtful look crossed his face, before he nodded and murmured once more and then looked to the archer.

"He wants us to search the sewers for some missing people, and wants to know where to deliver our reward."

"Tell him to put it on the windowsill. I'll send Crim to get it. Do we feel like wading through the sewers? It would be beneficial if we ever needed to use them, since it would help us know what entrance goes where. Also, what's the reward he's offering."

Another murmur against the wire, and then Xzar nodded once more.

"Eight thousand gold for killing the doppelgangers and Jhasso's return, with three hundred up front for going into the sewers. A full thousand if we find the cause or location of the missing people."

Baeloth whistled lowly, looking thoughtful. "As much as wading through a sewer -sucks-, surely such a substantial sum should secure service."

"And the abbil speaks true. If we need the sewers later, it will be good to know our way around them, although we will definitely want to retire for the night with a hot bath once we are done, if we do this thing." Viconia leaned back against the wall, glancing at the others.

"A hot bath, a hot mean and the best rooms we can get, I'd say. Eight thousand gold alone should cover that nicely." Damion paused, before looking at Edwin. The Thavian hadn't spoken much after they left the flaming fist headquarters, and was standing by the stairs watching the group. "Edwin. Any advice?"

"The more work we do for the local law enforcement, the better our standing with them. This will yield results in and of itself above and beyond rewards for services rendered." The words were offered with an utterly neutral tone, and drew a quirked brow from the archer.

"Well, that's... Certainly a good reason to do it, then. Xzar?"

"An escape route through the city would be -decidedly- to our benefit."

"Inform him that we will look into it, then. I've sent Crim to pick it up."

The necromancer nodded once more, and resumed murmuring against the silver wire. A thoughtful look crossed his face, and he nodded once more before tucking it away. "Done and done. He recomended looking through the sewers in the eastern half of the city."

"We should work our way across from the sewers here to get a feel for where they come up." Damion moved back to the stairs, brushing past the conjurer out of necessity and heading up. The others followed, leaving Edwin to stand there and stare up at their retreating backs, mind still working through problems of his own until finally, he followed.

* * *

The trip into the sewers was about what was expected. It -reeked-, there were giant spiders and the odd large multi-segmented white grub-like centipede with tentacles coming out of its face (Xzar helpfully informed the party that these creatures were carrion crawlers, and that they could paralyze if they managed to hit you) and most importantly, there were the expected markings on the walls at intersections. The archer mapped them out, checking what was above to decipher their meaning and mentioned that it looked like the local thieves guild was a well entrenched organization indeed.

"Thinking of signing on with them?" Baeloth queried, grimacing and shaking one of his feet as he lifted the hem of his robes to try and dislodge some of the slime that had accumulated on his shoes.

"Potentially. If anyone in the city could smuggle in goods we might need, it would probably be them. It's not as pressing a matter as clearing the Iron Throne out, though. We know they're here somewhere, so it shouldn't be too terrible a task to find them. I-" Damion paused, reaching out and snagging Viconia's shoulder to stop her as they approached the next intersection. "... Did you hear that?"

"It looks like carrion crawlers, Abbil."

"I thought I heard something else, though. I have a bad feeling about that junction. Baeloth, will you turn us invisible, please?"

"All right... But NOT because you asked me to."

Stifling a smile, the archer murmured a quiet 'wait here' before padding quietly down the tunnel, keeping to the (relatively) dry part above the sludge line. One of the carrion crawlers lifted its head as he neared, tendrils weaving through the air but by then Damion was already backpedaling. There were almost a dozen, all told, crammed into the juncture with a a figure that was almost ten feet tall and wielded a curved sword who was petting and speaking almost lovingly to one of them. Its head had come up, the archer had noted pale blue skin and beady, black eyes set into a bald head that was adorned with a pair of small, white horns.

"What's this?"

He was long gone by the time the creature had stepped to the edge of the tunnel and peered down it, and the group (namely the two drow, with their infravision that worked at double the range of what the helmet provided to Damion) kept watch murmured quietly among each other.

"Anyone recognize what this creature is?"

"You said he wore baggy clothing?"

"Yes, but he was slumped slightly and still almost scraped his horns against the ceiling."

"Oni. Commonly known as an ogre magi. They are spellcasters who prefer invisibility and ambush tactics." Edwin's voice came from somewhere across the tunnel. "They also prefer defensive magic such as minor globe to negate spells, and one or two armor-based spells. (You would think they would know this much, pfa!)"

"Thank you, Edwin. I-"

"Abbil, it has disappeared!"

"Right. At thirty feet a round... Xzar, put a line of lightning down the hall. Edwin, you're the most familiar with this creature, which is why I need you to be able to recognize an ogre mage shaped hole in the line in case it's immune to it and dispel the magic on it. Baeloth, if it seems immune to the lightning bolt-"

"Or I could cast fireball and take care of the carrion crawlers that seem to be incoming."

"-That's a much better idea, please do that. Viconia, i'm right behind-" His last word was drowned out by the thunderous retort of the lightning bolt that went off and bounced along the corridor and provided illumination. It didn't seem to catch anything but the carrion crawlers that were swarming along the tunnel, weakening them for the fireball that landed just behind the leading creatures before exploding and giving the tunnel further illumination. Another fireball flit out as they swarmed closer, crawling over their own dead before finally expiring some twenty feet away.

"Hah! They curl like shri-hgk!"

"I had it all planned, you know."

Damion didn't so much turn around as abruptly face the opposite way, already firing arrows as Baeloth stumbled forward, clutching his chest and wheezing. Viconia took two steps around him, already casting a healing spell as arrows peppered and stuck shallowly into the ogre mage that had appeared behind the party and run the sorcerer through from behind.

"The nobles didn't want to pay the ransom, so I fed their children to my pets. But now, you've -killed- them. I was getting bored of this town anyways-" The creature grunted and landed heavily, its spell of flight stripped by Edwin's dispel, and it growled as an arrow punctured a fair bit deeper than the previous ones. "Why you little-!"

"There are more crawlers, Abbil!"

"Sandwich. Baeloth?" A barrage of missiles answered him, streaming over his shoulders as he stepped forward and drew his short sword. He trusted Viconia to turn towards the carrion crawlers and act as the second piece of bread for their 'sandwich', keeping the ranged casters in the middle. He also trusted she was grimacing, considering how she had rolled her eyes when the archer had first suggested the tactic. "Edwin, support her. Xzar!"

A flurry of green robes danced past him and shifted slightly to the side, twisting to avoid the blade that swiped out for him. This gave Damion the opportunity to slip further around and score a strike along the ogre magi's calf, and as it snarled and twisted around to slash at him he dropped down under the blow and smirked as it bellowed and twisted around to hack furiously at the necromancer. This, in turn, allowed the archer the breathing room he needed to pop back up and carve deeply into the creature's back, and skitter to the side with the blessing of his boots to dodge a thrust that drew sparks from the wall he had almost backed into.

Magic missiles peppered the beast at a steady rate, and combined with the constant flames that were conjured a mere ten feet away to combat the carrion crawlers they provided enough light to ensure Xzar could keep a line of sight on their foe. It had just turned back to the necromancer with the horrible, rending screech of metal against metal before Damion was finally able to hit something vital and bring it to its knees, revealing a wheezing Xzar who's torso had been opened up from shoulder to hip.

"You... I underestimated you-"

The necromancer latched onto its face with a purple-lined hand, and drew a shuddering breath in even as he healed, leeching the remaining life of the ogre mage to heal the wound and letting the wizened, wrinkled remains of the creature fall.

"Xzar? Are you alright?"

"Hmm~, we are now, yes. A perk of the profession. Some minor repairs will be needed, but nothing, heh, -mortal-. You worry too much."

"I thought-... Well, that sound was -awful-."

The necromancer tilted his head, grinning at where he believed the archer still was, the light from the fires dying down and rendering him effectively blind once more. "His sword is magical, and defeated our armor. It gives us the protection of plate, yes? Hence the metal-on-metal sound."

"We have run out of carrion crawlers to kill, Abbil."

"Thank you, Viconia. Standard procedure, loot the corpses. Baeloth? How are you holding up, do you need more healing from Viconia?"

"What I -need- is a vacation somewhere that doesn't reek of -iblith- and a -massage-!"

Damion chuckled at the snarl he heard in the sorcerer's tone, holding up his hands.

"Well, how about a full twenty four hours of wine and women for you, while we plot and plan against the Iron Throne?"

Baeloth ohh'd quietly while Xzar hummed out an amused sound, reaching up and producing a small glowing orb of pale white light.

"Amen to that."


	45. Best served with laughter

_Content warning: Exposition_

* * *

Xzar closed the door, and partially turned to glance back at the archer who stood stock still in the center of their room. A quiet, murmured spell secured the perimeter before he nodded.

"Coast is clear."

"Eight thousand gold, Xzar!" The words practically burst out of Damion as he spun to stare at the necromancer, collected facade dropping along with his jaw. Crim, the winged snake, did a circuit around the room as the archers glee spread to him."That's- I've- Have you ever seen that much gold? In one spot? At the same time!? And Scar had it in a bag of holding, just-Just sitting there!"

"Nine thousand, three hundred, technically. He was impressed with how quickly we resolved the situation with the missing people in the sewer and let us keep the advance instead of counting it towards the final prize." Xzar watched, amused as Damion fanned himself and pretended to swoon, collapsing onto the bed.

"What it -is-, is almost two thousand gold for each of us! If you're frugal, you can survive off a single gold piece, for an entire month! I'll never have to worry about buying food or-or supplies, or-"

"One thousand, eight hundred and sixty gold, precisely." Lazily, the necromancer stretched and grunted, feeling along where his robes were damaged before starting to pull them off. He pursed his lips as he studied the tear, wiggling his nose. "I have seen ninety thousand gold pieces, all stacked and piled up neatly. You do not -know-, how expensive it is to be a mage. The scrolls themselves can be quite costly, let alone reagents or items that will guarantee your life in combat. Less than two thousand gold isn't exactly a whole whack when you consider all of the variables."

"We've been doing pretty good for spells, I think. And reagents." A frown was sent Xzar's way as the archer propped himself up on his elbows.

"Truth, but _do_ keep in mind, we've largely gotten by due to Davaeorn and the Thavian's stocks of spells and reagents. There will not always be enemy spellcasters with such personal effects upon them." The robe was laid out along the floor before the necromancer removed two lodestones from his reagents pouch and tucked them on either side of the tear. His brow furrowed in concentration as he hummed and murmured, trying to multitask as he slid the lodestones along the fabric and kept an eye on how the severed strands wove themselves back together. "You do not _know_ how lucky we have been. Few simply _stumble_ across a robe of the evil archmagi."

"Oh! That reminds me, I also found this. I think it's a... What did Viconia call it? Topsider's Crutch? I've had it bouncing around in my bag for a while, but I didn't realize what it was until I identified it, and then I forgot about it..." Damion smiled sheepishly, only to offer it out to Xzar and receive a deadpan stare in return. "Um... Nimbul had it, and... Yeah, I should... Have probably remembered it sooner."

"To be fair, you have had an inordinate amount of things on your mind. 'Tis a wonder you remember what you do." The stare softened slightly as the necromancer reached out to accept the ring, and he spent a moment turning the blue and red band over in his hand. "You're awfully good to your Priest. I barely do anything, and yet you traveled the length of the sword coast from Nashkel to Baldur's Gate and work to ensure I'm properly kit for combat."

"A little faith in me wouldn't be too much to ask in return, would it?" The archer smiled cheekily, and snickered as Xzar threw his head back.

"HAH! I see how it is. Bribery! You're _funny_." He finished mending his robes, and shook his head. "Any faith that can be -bought- is a flimsy thing indeed. But I will admit, _reluctantly_ don't get your hopes up, that I'm impressed that you didn't die when fighting the ogre mage. We've discussed the tactic but never practiced nor put it to the test."

"You still got hit. I don't know if I want to risk you like that, but considering your standard spell set it's not really my place to tell you that you shouldn't wade into combat like that. You've been doing it for some time, I'd bet." Damion flopped back onto the bed once more and reached up, catching Crim as his familiar darted over and coiled around his arm.

"Likely before you were born. I learned such spells fairly young, and you don't strike me as more than two decades old."

"... I'm nineteen. But now I... Sorta want to know. How old are you?"

"What's the date, you who keeps a journal?" The question came mildly as Xzar stood and shook out his robes, slipping them on and adjusting them as he did. "One loses track of time after the first few days in the hands of the Rabbits."

"Uhh... The thirteenth of Flamerule, Thirteen sixty-eight?"

The necromancer paused, mulling over the math for a moment before grimacing and squinting at nothing in particular across the room. "Ugh... Fourty two. I'm -old-."

"For an old bag of bones, you don't seem to do too bad in combat." The archer teased, smiling up at the ceiling until he caught the change from disgusted to sad in Xzar's tone.

"Your immortal father was slain on the sixteenth of Eleint, ten years ago."

"I-" Damion paused, before settling Crim onto his chest. "... Somehow, the Fading seems appropriate for something like that. My mortal father was slain on the first of Mirtul."

"Two months, then. You asked a hard question, my turn. Which father do you like better?"

It was the archers turn to pause and stare at a blank section of wall. "I... Well, I mean only one of them was anything like a father to me. Bhaal just sort of... Gave me nightmares growing up and made it harder to fit in. I never knew him like you seem to. One's blood gives me power and the other's teachings help me get through day to day situations."

"My Lord... Would not likely have been what is considered a 'good' father." The necromancer finished adjusting his robes, before glancing over at Damion. "He was particularly sadistic, highly intelligent, and more interested in the furthering of his own goals than he likely would have been the raising of any of his Spawn. This, he left to his clergy, if at all."

"Did he? You'd know, since you're one of his priests. Did you-"

"We've had this discussion, I believe, about asking things you do _not_ want to know." Xzar idly studied his nails for a moment, picking dirt out from under them.

"You... Think I'm not ready to know, then." The archer shifted to the edge of the bed and sat up, settling his feet on the floor as he studied the necromancer and focusing. He didn't so much want to command, as to convince that he was ready for this information, but without knowing exactly how his heritage conveyed the urge to obey to Xzar... "This is different from Beregost. Knowing this won't change anything."

The necromancer turned to study Damion for a long moment, lips curling down at the corners into a somewhat distracted frown as he reached up and pressed a hand to his head. "... Do you even realize what you do? I can feel it, like a... A _need_ that tickles and pulls. Like a flutter of a whisper of a second breath, it catches in my chest and makes it hard to remember to _breath_."

"I didn't know that's what it felt like, but it's my first time actually trying to... Well, it's -different- from ordering you to do something while I'm angry. I don't want to -make- you answer my questions, but I do want to know." The archer smiled sheepishly, letting his focus wane and blinking as Xzar wavered where he stood. "Xzar? Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes... The first time I felt this thing was when your sister from another mister left and you asked my advice." Puffing out his cheeks, the necromancer stepped over to the chair and dragged it closer to the bed before sitting down on it and leaning against the back. He opened his mouth as if to speak several times, only to close it and let his frown deepen until eventually he muttered quietly, sounding as if something had defeated him after a long and terrible battle. "...Yes, to answer your question. We took care of a number of Bhaalspawn, any that we found, we groomed them and trained them to kill. The younger -or the weaker- would often fight among themselves, and when one would die their divine essence would leave them, and return to Gehenna. It is said that there is a chamber there of infinite depth that holds statues bearing the likeness of every Bhaalspawn born. It is also said, that when every statue has crumbled, that my Lord will return. You see why I do not -like- the idea of throwing my faith to another? Those of his clergy who were high in rank, his Deathstalkers, we -know- he will return in some capacity. We -know-, that the Bhaalspawn are an instrument, a tool, that the more they immerse themselves in murder the more powerful my Lord will be when their divine essence coalesces back into his form."

"You say you want to become a god? You will. It has always been possible. Whether you will become your own divinity, or become part of the divinity of another, or meld back into my Lord is the only unknown in this endeavor of yours. I did not wish to speak of this, because I know you want my faith to fall to you. Nobody _wants_ to be told they're doomed to fail, before they've had a chance to even really start. I wanted to at least watch you grow some and try to determine if you stood a chance of overthrowing the ego of a God, but..." The necromancer lapsed silent, elbows resting on the arms of the chair and supporting his head with one hand as he stared at Damion's boots.

"... I've been going about this the wrong way, then." The archer's words drew a glance from Xzar before he averted his gaze back to his boots as he continued. "I've been assuming my competition was dead and gone for good."

"... Eh?"

"I've been trying to replace someone who isn't actually, effectively, destroyed. What I need to do, is give you even the smallest seed of doubt that I'll successfully be consumed by him." Damion smiled over at the necromancer as Xzar lifted his gaze, a mix of outraged, baffled and intrigued stamped across his face.

"Even knowing what you know, you would -still- try and name me your Priest?"

"Of course." The archer stretched idly. "You're -useful-, and I didn't spend all this effort trying to steal your allegiance just to give up now. It's also not exactly a secret, that you have a very good chance of stabbing me in the back at some point. Yet here you are, guarding me in my sleep. You say a lot of things, Xzar, but you also take actions that almost directly contradict them. You didn't have to help me summon my familiar, you could have let me fail at getting a second set of eyes that could warn me if anything tried to kill me in my sleep. You didn't have to flank the ogre mage, you could have very easily just let it kill me and save yourself the hassle of doing so yourself, though I suppose that might make it difficult for me to kill my brother for you. I trust you, because I understand your motivation, and knowing this thing about Bhaal and the other Bhaalspawn only cements that I'm right to do so. I expect you to stand at my side until the very end, and I expect to have given you the very dagger you try and stick between my shoulder blades."

Xzar could only blink and stare blankly before starting to laugh and press a hand against his face.

"I could do no other."


	46. Best served by living well

Crim certainly didn't expect to get swatted out of the air with a net. He most -definitely- hadn't forseen that Scar of the Flaming Fist would be the one to do it. Apparently the old coot was faster and smarter than he gave him credit for. As he reared his head back while entangled in the net and bared his fangs, though, the human had snagged him by the back of the neck and carefully worked him free of the net he had been captured with.

"Easy now, little guy. I need you to send a message for me, and I don't know how to contact your friends any other way."

One free of the net, he was set down onto the tree branch he had just drifted past, and as the hand released the back of his neck he spun and hissed, wings flaring, and struck-

... And recoiled, because damned if blunting his teeth on a purely metal vambrace didn't -hurt-.

"I don't envy you. That looked like it hurt. Listen, someone very important wants to speak with your friends. He wants to meet with Damion tonight, just after dusk. If you can pass that message along to him, this meeting will help him greatly when it comes to fighting the Iron Throne. Go on now, shoo. Shoo! Before anyone gets suspicious as to why I'm up a tree with a butterfly net."

He didn't need to be told twice, but still hissed irritably at the human before taking to the sky once more.

* * *

Damion paused, mid-rinse as he sat in a particularly hot bath, and glanced through his dripping hair towards the screen that sectioned off the rest of the room.

"Xzar? Can you message Scar please? He apparently accosted Crim to get him to deliver a message and I want to make sure it's the real one and not another doppelganger."

"Hmm? Oh. Yes."

"I've asked Crim to circle the Low Lantern's mast to make it look like that's where I am. I'm worried about anyone trying to follow him back to me."

"... Harold says it was, in fact, him. There is someone particularly powerful who wishes to help us, it seems."

The archer paused once more, screwing up his face and mouthing the name 'Harold' before finishing his bath and exiting the tub. One of his towels went around his waist while he used the other to start drying his hair while he circled around the screen. "I suppose I should have guessed he had an actual name and wasn't just named 'Scar'."

"Do you intend to see what this is about, then?"

"Sure. It gives me a chance to... What... Do I want to know what you're doing?"

Xzar peered over from where he was on the carpet in his underwear, face up and looking for all the word like he had tried to do a back flip and just hadn't gotten enough momentum built up to kick his legs into the air. His back was arched into a sort of bridge, braced on one hand and his heels with his free hand holding the wire next to his mouth.

"-You- get old and see how limber you stay without exercise. I was -insane- to neglect myself so utterly."

"Remind me to talk to you about where you got so many scars."

With a grunt, the necromancer collapsed down to the ground before sitting up, feeling a tingle in the air like lightning waiting to be discharged that was swiftly becoming familiar as the archers _urge to murder_. "Oh, here and there. When can Mister Loggerson expect you?"

"I'd say about an hour after the sun goes down. It'll take me at least that long to sneak over there and make sure I'm not spotted." Damion scrubbed a hand across his face and exhaled slowly. He was -certain- that his roommate was missing a lower rib on one side, and tried to archive the mental image until he could properly ask about its absence. "Any ideas on how to sneak in to the equivalent of the prison?"

A moment of murmuring against the wire later, and Xzar nodded.

"He says to go around to the western side of the building. There will be a side gate there, and that you're free to use it."

"Thanks."

The archer turned, and started to prepare.

* * *

Baeloth woke slowly to the welcome darkness of his room. The curtains against the windows were plush, and pulled tight against the sun in addition to the curtains that framed the bed. It wasn't quite the pitch black of the Underdark, but it was certainly far tolerable than the harsh glare that almost blinded him otherwise. Yawning widely, he stretched in the luxury of his silk sheets and licked his lips, trying to think of what to spend his day on. He had a little over three thousand gold squirreled away, and knew that spending some to pamper himself would go a long way to making the flea-infested barbarians that crossed his path tolerable.

As such, his first order of business (after glamouring himself to look more like a local and less like the fantastic, powerful sorcerer he was, of course) was the finest breakfast he could buy. After, of course, he would simply have to find the brothel, but such a thing was easy enough to do. He just hoped that they had someone with dark enough skin and a slight enough build that he could close his eyes and pretend she was drow or talented enough to forget his personal bias.

Then? Well, there had to be -something- interesting to do in this Vhaeraun-forsaken city.

* * *

Edwin stared at the letter on his desk. It was partially written, and crumpled pieces of parchment littered the floor behind him. How to report to his father that he had found a Bhaalspawn? He had already sent his familiar with a letter reporting that Dynaheir, the witch, was dead and received the reply that commanded him on to his next assignment, but knew that this was something his father would want to keep an eye on. It wasn't every day, after all, that one simply tumbled at his feet, and they would lose nothing yet gain a valuable ally if he was able to steer him, to guide Damion in very specific ways...

The Imp reported his food had arrived even before room service knocked on his door, and he pushed himself away from the desk with a tired sigh before going to answer the door to collect what he had ordered. It was nice to have time to tend to what he needed to, but lamented the need for so much paperwork. Still, there were rumors of a wild mage lingering somewhere along the coast. Perhaps he could mention it in the letter, and use it as a valid reason to pursue his main goal...

* * *

Viconia finished dying her hair, and inspected the result as it dried. It was getting long, and for a moment she toyed with the idea of cutting it. There were certainly pros and cons to having long hair, but shorter -was- more manageable on the road. Certainly easier to clean, and required less to dye it...

Scissors were easy enough to come by, and once she had applied her makeup she felt ready to face the city, or at least make as short a trip as possible to pick up the supplies she needed. Her eyes caught the parchment that sat folded and signed neatly on the edge of the desk, and she cautiously reached for it, almost fearing it would vanish in a puff of smoke. Opening it, she re-read the words upon it.

_The bearer of this letter is granted full sanctuary and citizenship that extends the length and breadth of the Sword Coast, granted by Grand Duke Eltan of Baldur's Gate. Let it be known that any who would strike at the one known as Viconia DeVir within this range is committing an unlawful act of violence against one of our citizens, and is to be punished in accordance to our laws._

_Signed,_

_Grand Duke Eltan, Commander of the Flaming Fist_

Her fingers shifted along the signature and the seal that verified the identity of the one who had signed it. It meant she didn't have to wear make up. It meant that she could, theoretically, wash her face and step out into the streets proud of her heritage and, so long as she didn't break any laws, would be defended by the Flaming Fist.

Still...

The cleric set the parchment back down, pulling her yellow hood up and frowning down at it. It was hard to trust that it would be so simple, and even if they served her willingly any shop she went to would take one look at the colour of her skin and her pointed ears and scream. Finally, she folded the parchment and tucked it into her shirt, just in case, before slipping her boots on and easing out into the hall.

She would put it to the test. And if it didn't work? Well, then her trust in Damion was misplaced, as was his in a fundamentally flawed system.

* * *

"(Great. You would think I could go to a brothel and be granted a reprieve from the presence of the dull.) Baeloth, I did not expect to find you here."

"Edwin." The sorcerer rolled his eyes and didn't even bother to disguise the contempt in his tone, before focusing on the lineup in front of him. "What do -you- want. Can't you see I'm -busy-?"

"I -wanted- relax and pay for a pleasant hour or two, but instead I find I simply cannot take two steps without running in to one of the circus freaks that the Chimp keeps with him."

"Oh -please-, as if you could hold a steady job as an Entertainer. You have about as much flare for the theatrical as I have breasts." Baeloth had fought the urge to take a jab back at the Thavian for all of a third of a second, before succumbing and tucking his hands on his hips. "In fact, I'd bet -gold- that all you're going to do is lay there like a wart on a rothé's ballsack while whatever poor girl you pick does all the work. Don't you know that half the fun is actually -engaging- your audience?"

"They are paid for their services. Why should I put in the effort when it is their gold? (It is as if he expects me to work for free. Tch!)" Edwin eyed one of the women up and down, and noted with some sourness that while she had a pretty face, she was built a fair bit thicker than what he had hoped.

"Egads, man! No wonder you walk so stiffly. You've never experienced the true pleasures of decadence of debauchery, and you never will if you treat it like a job or a chore. It's a _vice_, and meant to be enjoyed until exhaustion, and then perhaps enjoyed a little more." Eyeing the two of the lineup who were the slenderest, the sorcerer beckoned them forward and then hooked an arm around each of their hips with a wink towards the Thavian. "Well Ladies? Care to help me relax?"

They giggled, and the trio headed off into one of the curtained rooms off to the side, leaving Edwin to sneer at their departure.

* * *

Damion successfully slipped into the flaming fist headquarters, and dropped all need for stealth once he had stepped through the gate. They were expecting him, after all, and as he entered the center of the keep he found Scar waiting for him at the foot of a spiral staircase.

"Glad you could make it, Damion. Come on, this way."

Inclining his head, he followed the second in command up the stairs, and paused as they stepped onto the landing. Waiting for them was a large human in black plate armor with close-cropped black hair, and as Scar (thank the gods the archer had something to call him other than 'Harold') bowed, he found himself receiving an introduction.

"Damion, this is Grand Duke Eltan, leader of the Flaming Fist Mercenaries. Sir, I've brought him as you requested."

"Pleasure to meet you, Sir. Scar mentioned you wanted to talk to me?" The archer didn't quite like how the black armored man eyed him up, and eased his expression into a pleasantly polite one while inclining his head. It was as if his eyes were studying him from the inside out, and Damion was reminded of how Ira sometimes looked at people they met and used how much they squirmed as a measure of their worth in combat.

"Harold tells me you and your group are the ones responsible for taking care of an ogre mage in the sewers, as well as rescuing Jhasso."

"It was a particularly well paying job Sir, though I didn't quite realize how well it would pay until after the fact."

"Why did you take the job, then?" Duke Eltan reached up and smoothed part of his goatee. "Was it out of the potential to kill with the might of the Law behind you?"

The archer blinked, tilting his head and quirking a brow. "Sir, with all due respect, Mister Loggerson said his friend's return from the Seven Suns building was long overdue. I requested two writs of pardon that you yourself signed, to protect people who defy the norm of their heritage and who want to be able to simply go to a tavern and order something to eat without being murdered. Do I seem like the type of person who would flaunt such a thing?"

"And yet, you travel with a Zhent from the Moonsea and a Thavian."

"A mercenary who gets paid quite well and no longer is affiliated with the Zhentarim, and a man who pays particularly close attention to following the rules, Sir? Mister Loggerson led me to believe you're particularly well informed. Surely he kept you aware of the situation." Damion glanced over towards Scar, inclining his head as the other failed to fight down a smile before looking back to the Grand Duke. "We took the job because somebody needed our help, and because we saw an opportunity to make sure that the two most discriminated against members of my party might be able to live as close to a normal life as possible, Sir. Nothing more, nothing less."

Eltan studied the archer for another long moment, before laughing easily and looking at his second in command.

"You weren't kidding. Silver-tongued cub indeed."

"I told you, Sir. He's grown even in the hours between when we first met and he was figuring out what worked for him for intimidation and what worked for flattery." Scar flashed a grin towards Damion, before chuckling.

"If I didn't have your file, Damiondred of Candlekeep, I would have believed you might have been doing this for a decade, not a mere two months. I'm impressed." Eltan smiled slightly, tiredly, and the archer had a sudden funny feeling as if he had just passed some sort of test. "I will be honest, half of why I asked Harold to call you in here is because I wanted to see the young man he was so impressed with. I think I agree with his assessment of you, too."

"Sir?"

"He tells me you act as the moral compass of your group through a mix of flattery, manipulation and bribery. That you took murderous elements and tuned them to your own cause, and aim them so far only at people who deserve it. Our investigations into the Cloakwood mines echo this. You could have very easily left the slaves trapped in the mine when you flooded it, but instead elected to evacuate them beforehand. You investigated the Nashkel mines, and rescued an Evereskan Greycloak from the Cyrite who was poisoning the ore, and in doing so eased hostile relations with Amn. All of this, before even setting foot in my city. The only mark against you so far is that you killed one of my soldiers as they traveled in pursuit of the female drow you currently protect." The Grand Duke's eyes crinkled as he smiled, and he raised a hand. "He is currently on leave. We collected his corpse and ensured he was returned to life. He gave us a most... Interesting, report. And to be fair, he had no valid reason beyond the colour of her skin to hunt her down. As such, we decided to politely decline his request to bring you up on charges of murder. No permanent harm, no permanent foul."

"I'm relieved that he seems to be doing well, and I would hope that going forward he saves his efforts for those who have actually broken the law, Sir." The archer relaxed slightly, rather suddenly aware of how few escape routes there were that were visible from where he stood.

"This is our hope as well. Unfortunately, not all members of the Flaming Fist are as honourable nor as well intentioned as I would like. Which brings me to the other half of the reason why I requested that we talk. Harold?" Duke Eltan glanced towards his second in command, and waited until Scar had headed downstairs before looking back towards Damion with a serious expression. "I have little in the way of proof, but I believe that there are members of the Flaming Fist who are working in concert with the Iron Throne, and that they plan to kill me. Roughly half of my forces are truly loyal to me in any capacity. This is why I wish to help you with your investigation of the Iron Throne. My very life may depend on what you unearth. Harold has constantly thwarted attempts to usurp his own position, so I urge you to act with all haste."

"We intend to investigate the building itself tomorrow, Sir. I thought it best to give my companions a day of downtime, considering the hassle we've gone through trying to get here in the first place. A group of wizards in a sewer does not make for a happy time."

"I won't keep you from them any longer, then. I hope the next time we speak, that we both bear good news."

Damion bowed slightly, taking the dismissal at face value and heading back downstairs, out of the building and into the night.


	47. Best served as a side dish

_Content warning: drow hand sign language looks like this `blablabla`_

* * *

Damion quietly ghosted through the streets, mind churning as he tried to re-shuffle and organize his 'to do' list. Number two on said list was figure out just how much of their travels were known to every major faction in the city, because it seemed as if everyone and their dog knew where he had so much as shat in the last two months, and it was getting particularly annoying. He had known that Xzar and Montaron were sending reports back to the Zhentarim, but... Well, it spoke volumes about that particular faction if their missives were being intercepted that easily.

Speaking of, he was about eighty percent certain that he had just caught sight of his green-robed priest hauling something large that looked to be wrapped in a thick sheet, and set his thoughts aside as he followed and eventually came to a house in the south eastern section of the city. The green-robed figure knocked twice, before being let in, with the door closing behind him.

Something in his gut told him to leave it be, but he couldn't help it.

* * *

"Arkion, good to see you've barely changed in a decade." Xzar settled his burden down into the carpet with a thump, smiling easily at the greasy black haired, black robed man who had let him into his 'borrowed' house. "How's the wife? How's the kids?"

"Dead, thank you. Still acting Mad Dog of the Zhentarim?"

"Not at the moment. I've found myself inexplicably free of them, for the time being."

"And found yourself another Spawn to groom, if the reports are accurate. The local one has done nothing but froth at the mouth with how the little runtling keeps avoiding assassinations and has slowly killed his way up the chain of command." The other necromancer nudged the wrapped bundle with a toe for a moment, scowling.

"Yes, well the local was a bit too betrayal shaped for my tastes. 'Tis one thing to leave a trail of bodies, quite another when half of them once served you." Xzar idly picked at his nails as Arkion scoffed and started to haul the wrapped bundle into the center of the room.

"Does it matter, in the end? When all is said and done, our Lord will rise victorious regardless."

"Yes, but I'd rather like to be there to _see_ it." The green-clad necromancer begrudgingly stepped forward to help unwrap the corpse of what looked to be a male human, and between the two of them they managed to straighten him out on the carpet. "Have you found any of the others?"

"Some. A few. Most either weren't able to avoid capture or went back to murder as many followers of the Mad God as they could. We're holding a ritual to mark His death, can we expect you?" Arkion glanced up from where he was producing knives and starting to make incisions along the torso.

"Mmmnh, if the Local will be there, no. He would bend me over the alter and bleed me like babe." Xzar carefully peeled the skin back, eyeing the torso and sighing. "Be forewarned, evidence of bloating."

"Did you do something to anger him then? If so, you very likely deserved it." A hand was waved, performing a minor cantrip before the black robed necromancer started removing organs.

"I can't say, unfortunately. What I want to know, however, is where your support falls. Who's call would you answer, the Local's or mine?"

"Why do these two things have to be exclusive?" Arkion paused in his work, side-eyeing the green-clad necromancer. "I recall it being particularly unhealthy to cross you, but far more dangerous to cross a Bhaalspawn. His plans will drown the coast with blood with the war he seeks to start."

"Yes. Exactly. When did he become a _Banespawn_? Murder creeps unheard and unseen through the night, purchased by those wronged by another. It doesn't waltz across a field, beheading foes as it goes. 'Tis a _playful_ thing, leading the Law in a merry chase before vanishing without a trace." Xzar scoffed, shaking his head as he divested the corpse of a kidney. "Your answer, Arkion."

"Do you truly think your student can kill him?" His co-worker stalled, idly toying with a lung before setting it next to the other organs. "This is _Sarevok_ we're talking about, blessed with the three gifts men would pray for; strength of mind, body and will."

"That's a no then, I take it."

Arkion eyed the almost casual way Xzar was holding his knife, and swallowed dryly.

* * *

Xzar stepped out of the building, hood pulled down and having freshly washed his hands. Taking two steps he paused, and then turned to peer into the alley beside the house. He was starting to trust the sixth sense he seemed to be steadily developing when it came to Damion, and while he could barely taste the lightning-charged tingle it was more than when he had stepped into the house. The infravision granted to him by the ring didn't pick up any heat signatures larger than a rat, and he eased carefully into the gap between the houses while quietly murmuring the familiar syllables that sheathed his hand in non-glowing frost just in case he was mistaken.

The faintest of sounds caught his attention, the quietest creaking of wood, and he realized that of -course- whoever it was would hide on the roof.

"... Damion?"

"Xzar."

"Would you like to come down?"

"Sure." There was a moment of quiet movement before the archer scaled down the side of the building, taking his time and being careful until he touched down and turned to study the necromancer in the dark.

"How long have you been up there?"

"Whole time."

Xzar hesitated, and kept one his frost rimed hand behind his back. "... Are you mad at me?"

"No. I don't care about you killing and eating him, the corpse you brought or your plots. I learned the murderer of my Father's name today. It's... I feel... How would I even describe it...?"

"Excited? Enraged? Vengeful?" Three helpful suggestions, or so the necromancer thought.

"I'm shaking, I think. Restless. Excited is close, but not quite the word I'm looking for." Damion reached up and removed his helmet, taking in the fresh air and shuddering. "We should... We should head back. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

"Do we strike at night?"

"No. People expect to be attacked at night, or at dawn. We'll go shortly after noon."

* * *

Damion realized, shortly into the night, that he was dreaming of Candlekeep and the Armored Arsehole- Of _Sarevok _\- killing everyone. Hull, Dreppin, Winthrop... His minds eye was filled with the images of everyone he had known, everyone he had grown up with, who was a constant in his life being struck down as blood rained from the sky. Eventually, the rain turned into the soft splatter-patter of wet hearts, and as he turned a corner he found himself face to face with his mirror image once more.

"... Hello."

"You worry about them. Why?"

"It's my home. I don't want him to taint the place I came from. I left it a certain way, and it should stay that way."

"You should worry more about yourself. You're not strong enough to kill him yet."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"What's your plan, then?" His copy tilted his head and folded his arms, looking amused.

"I'm going to fight him without my armor on."

"Hah! You're going to get killed."

"Why do you say that? Do you know something I don't?"

His Bhaalspawn taint laughed lightly, and gestured to the blood soaked scenery. "Look around you. You know this is the -least- of what he could do. It's only a matter of time before he hunts down everyone else-"

"I didn't ask you that. I asked why you would think he can kill me." Damion folded his arms and shook his head. "I know you. I know what you are, and I know -why- you are, too. What I don't know, is why you think he stands a chance."

"He grew up fighting, groomed as a Bhaalspawn and heir-apparent, while you... Read books. Struggled with morality and didn't even know why until recently. You're coming into this with a handicap, fighting your own nature. Fighting -me-." His copy smirked, and gestured to the blood soaked scenery. "I don't care about these people. They're nothing-"

"You should care, they're a free ticket to murder anyone who attacks them. Death has to have a meaning, otherwise it goes to the wrong God, and Bhaal's portfolio was murder not mad slaughter."

"Wrong. Murder is killing people for no actual reason. It's unbiased. You're thinking of revenge."

"Then maybe that's what I want to be a god of. Think of it. Think of how much death that would mean, and how much longer we could kill for. Someone wrongs us, and we -become- the Law. We wouldn't have to hide. We wouldn't have to fear retribution, because we would -be- retribution. We would be vengeance." The archer offered his hand out, smiling slightly. "Our faithful wouldn't have to fight among themselves, which would reduce casualties."

His mirror eyed the hand incredulously, before laughing.

* * *

Damion woke abruptly and spent a moment staring blankly at the ceiling. He felt like something important had happened, but couldn't for the life of him recall what he had dreamed of. Still, as he pushed himself up and surveyed his room, he noted that Xzar was kneeling with his forehead pressed against the carpet in front of a small round icon that was leaned against the dresser. There was a faint metallic taste in the air, and the archer wrinkled his nose slightly as he realized what it was.

"Already eaten breakfast, Xzar?"

"Mmm? Ah. Yes. 'Tis close to noon. If you slept any longer, we would have had to leave you behind." The necromancer straightened, smiling slightly. "The others are ready to go."

"Right. Let me get my pants on, then go and start bringing them here, please."

"You have a plan?"

"Always."

* * *

"It's simple enough," The archer started as Xzar closed the door behind Baeloth. The sorcerer was consistently the last to their meetings, which was an unfortunate habit of his, but there wasn't a lot to be done about it. "We go in, get what information we can on the whereabouts of their leaders, then we kill their leaders. Everyone and their brother seems to know we intend to go there at some point, but they'll very likely expect us at night or at dawn. Xzar informed you all that we leave at noon?"

"Yes, yes. But what's our plan to get into and through the building?" Baeloth idly picked his teeth with a nail, using the mirror on the desk.

"You all get to be invisible. I'm going to be opening doors, since it's me they want. And if they don't recognize me, I'll say I'm a new guard who was hired recently."

"They have uniforms." Edwin frowned, steepling his hands in front of his chest before tilting his head. "Do you have a plan to acquire one?"

"Not particularly. I plan to leave a trail of corpses if they call me on it."

"Why?" Xzar frowned, peering at Damion while the archer traced a hand along the pommel of the shortsword strapped to his hip.

"This is the house of my enemy, the house of the man that murdered my father and sent assassins after me at every turn. Besides, the Iron Throne can't cause any trouble if there's nobody with a pulse left to cause it, now can it."

The necromancer licked his lips and did nothing to hide the shiver that trailed down his spine.

* * *

Viconia flicked her fingers, catching Baeloth's attention and subtly turning to keep her hand out of Damion's line of sight as she curled and twitched her fingers through the silent language they shared.

_`Does Abbil seem strange to you?`_

The sorcerer's eyes flit towards their defacto leader as Edwin made some inquiry about what exactly they were looking for. Letters? Witnesses? Baeloth raked his hand back through his hair with one hand, the other hovering near his hip as he answered her.

_`Does indeed. Bloodthirsty. Ready for war. Not his usual diplomatic self.`_

_`Do you think he has been meddled with?`_

_`No.`_ The way his pinky wiggled at the end signified exasperation. `_Just a boy trying to become a man and floundering as he tries to find the correct hole for the first time. He's -green-, for all the fighting he's done. This is the first that's personal.`_

_`He seems liable to lose himself.`_

_`Do we -care-?`_

Viconia scowled, glaring across the room as the sorcerer resumed idly picking his teeth, using the action as a cover to continue signing words and meanings.

_`Get too attached to the rivvil and you reek of them the rest of your life.`_

"Alright. With that settled-" Damion's voice floated over their conversation, and he stepped into the center of the room, studying each of his party members. Baeloth set the mirror down, and spent a moment adjusting his hair, weaving the gestures through his action.

_`You -know- how this world is.`_

"-Let's all prepare to head out.-" The archers eyes settled on Viconia for a moment, dark and bright all at once, and she was reminded for a moment of the unforgiving lightless depths of the Underdark. The sorcerer stepped slightly to the side, using Damion's back as a shield to hide his gestures this time.

_`If you continue to go soft, this world will chew you up and spit you out.`_

"-Baeloth, if you would?" The Bhaalspawn turned, and the sorcerer smiled easily and dipped into a slight bow.

"I'm here, and I hear."


	48. Best served with chaos

_Content warning: Familiar telepathy indicated by :blabla:_   
_... I should really make a key for all of this so I can keep track of it._

* * *

They knew where they were going. They also knew that Damion would be the one to open the door, and when he became visible and hauled it open the rest filed in. He didn't bother to close it behind him, and half-way across the room was stopped by a merchant who was looking for where his appointment would be and a guard who inevitably asked where the archers uniform was.

Surprisingly, he told him to go upstairs and get one, before shaking his head and muttering something about new recruits these days. It worked on the next three floors, though on the fourth one he was approached by a woman who was looking for where her appointment would be, arguing about how she should have been escorted directly to where she was meant to go. Damion politely offered to do so, and together they made their way to the fifth floor.

This... Was where things got a little more complicated.

There was a group of seven people arrayed along the landing, and one stepped forward with an easy smile that was aimed purely at the archer as Emissary Tar folded her arms and huffed.

"I was supposed to be called for my meeting hours ago! I -advise- that you take me to see Rieltar immediately!"

"Of course, Ma'am. Guard, escort the lady into the office please." His smile grew as the nearby guard glanced at him and then indicated that the large woman should follow him. She did, huffing, and as they went into the back, that left six of them watching Damion.

"You made good time. Pity, then, that you missed everyone."

"Truly, you say that and yet, you're still here-"

Edwin and Baeloth abruptly became visible as they completed their spells, and both fireballs flit out and exploded as their opposition dove for cover. The wave of flame ended just in front of the archer, and he was already lifting the bow to check on both mages as Viconia became visible and slammed her shield into the enemy archer, driving him back a step. It would have left her open to the sword and shield wielding fighter save for how he stiffened abruptly and Xzar popped into view.

"Ah-ah-ah~! You didn't say the magic word~!"

One of the mages struggled back to his feet, spitting out the remnants of the spell he had held on to before Damion managed to stick an arrow into him, bracing for the impact of the spell...

... And nothing seemed to happen, so he stepped up and managed a second shot, aiming the third right until he felt hands curl around his neck and frost bloom out across his skin. Gritting his teeth, he focused and partially wheezed, partially snapped at the necromancer behind him, unable to turn to see Xzar and banking on the breath he had left combined with the pull of his blood.

"Xzar! Snap out of it! It's a spell!"

The necromancer grunted, grip loosening slightly but remaining locked around the archers throat until fire exploded around them. With a howl, Xzar let go, spun and lunged for the Thavian that had retreated down the stairs. Damion sucked in a breath, and bolted along the wall as he fired off shots at the mage he had already wounded. Two missed, but the third and fourth finally struck true and he was able to turn and give the rest of the room his attention.

Viconia and Baeloth had backed into a corner, the cleric weathering blows and shots from the sword wielding fighter, the enemy archer and both the hammer and mace wielding (presumably) clerics. As he watched, the sorcerer finished a spell and a wave of magic swept out, dispelling the enchantments cast and stealing some of the force of their blows while the remaining enemy mage cast another round of magic missiles only to watch in dismay as they fizzled out as they approached the pair. Unfortunately, the enemy archer had spotted him, and turned to start firing shots off at him.

He was good, Damion admitted as he snapped a hand out, received an arrow in the chest and ducked behind the pillar. Hauling the arrow out, he hissed and sucked in another breath as the ghostly diamond flit back into him, sealing the wound with the stolen life force. He was about to turn back around the pillar, before everything went oddly silent. He could hear himself, but...

Peeking around the pillar, the archer watched as they fought in silence, their remaining mage backpedaling as he tried to find the edge of what was presumably a spell as the window behind him broke, a streak of red arrowing in and coiling tightly around his neck. Fanged jaws opened, spraying a stream of venom into the mages face as he panicked and fought to claw the familiar off before he was suffocated. The enemy archer was blissfully unaware as he aimed another shot at Damion, barely missing as he ducked back behind the pillar and quickly stripped his studded leather armor off. Sucking in a breath, he cast as quickly as he could.

He didn't even have to worry about moving quietly, running full tilt across the room under the cover of one of his precious invisibility spells, and passed the enemy archer, drawing his short sword and mentally bidding Crim to uncoil and draw the mages attention to his right. As the familiar did so, he stepped out of the bubble of silence and started to cast, only for Damion to appear as he drew his shortswoord across his neck. Whatever spell he had been about to cast ended in a gurgle, and he turned and headed back into the bubble of silence, aiming for the archer.

He wasn't entirely certain what caused the enemy archer to turn around. Maybe he had been expecting a spell from his mage friend and had wondered why there was none, but as Damion approached him he spun and then drew the bow up, eyes widening. He managed to get a shot off, stepping back, but the bhaalspawn's boots carried him faster than he could retreat. Closing the distance with an arrow sticking out of his arm, he skittered abruptly to his right as the enemy archer dropped the bow and drew the halberd that had been strapped to his back, bringing it down to clang soundlessly against the floor.

_:Damion! Xzar incoming! Swing back around, keep him facing away from the stairs!:_

Quick-stepping back around to the left, he jabbed forward with the shortsword, drawing a line of silent sparks across the plate armor and retreating away to get clear of the wide diagonal sweep of the polearm's blade. He could only hope that the necromancer had shaken the effects of the spell, even as his back hit the wall and he realized he had been corralled out of the silence and into a corner.

"Do I at least get to know the name of my murderer?"

The halberd came stabbing forward, and he managed to get the shortsword across in time to push it to the side and bury the point into the wall before the enemy archer closed the gap and launched a plate-protected fist out, catching Damion in the torso and drawing a grunt as he was hit where he had initially been shot. Both weapons clattered to the floor.

"Zhalimar Cloudwulfe. You've been a thorn in my employer's side for far too long."

"Maybe he shouldn't have jumped into a rosebush then."

Zhalimar slugged him in the face for that, and as Damion reeled he had the distinct pleasure of watching Xzar's hands curl around his opponents throat and discharge a pulse of sickly greenish energy. It was unfortunate that their opponent seemed to shrug it off, instead turning and decking the necromancer, sending him stumbling back and into the bubble of silence.

"You should have run when you had the chan-"

Glass broke, and a crossbow bolt rather suddenly protruded from Zhalimar's side with a thunk, sending him staggering and giving Damion a chance to snag his shortsword and stab into one of the few gaps in the armor. Xzar stepped back in with a dagger, and between the two of them they managed to finally down their foe. Looking back to where Viconia and Baeloth had tucked defensively into a corner, they noticed that there was only the one cleric left and watched as the sorcerer finished another barrage of magic missiles and downed him.

"... Everyone alright? Xzar?"

The necromancer jerked slightly, shaking where he stood and staring blankly at the floor as his fingers curled and twitched.

"Right. The spell. Stay there. Baeloth? Viconia?" Waving his arms to get their attention, he curled his fingers and gestured as they both looked over.

_`All good?`_

_`Yes, Abbil.`_ Viconia gestured back, and they eased out of the corner.

"Xzar, I need you to focus. Where is Edwin?"

Wrapping his arms around himself, the necromancer shuddered and turned a blank, disoriented gaze up to the archer as he shook his head and started to gently guide him by the elbow. They passed into the bubble of silence before peeking down the stairs, and Damion slowly shook his head at what he saw.

* * *

Xzar's world abruptly shifted, skewing sharply and he shook his head to clear it. Blinking, he realized that the enemy archer was standing right next to him, and began to quietly cast so as to not give away his position as he stepped ever so quietly behind him. His hands lifted, and he discharged his spell successfully as he wrapped his hands around the enemy archers neck. Grinning, he squeezed, feeling the frostbitten flesh give slightly before a second breath fluttered in his chest.

"Xzar! Snap out of it! It's a spell!"

The words were practically wheezed out, and he grunted as he felt the force of the command through his system. Was the black haired archer not the enemy? No? Yes? His head hurt, and his grip loosened as he stared at the back of the head in confusion until a wash of fire fanned out and he howled as he let go, turning towards the red robed mage. Certainly he was an enemy, he had cast a spell on him! One that hurt! Right?

The red robed mage backpedaled, a look of panic stamping itself across his face before he turned and started to bolt down the stairs. Xzar was faster, leaping the banister to drop down in front of him and spit out the words of another spell. He clawed at the red robed mage, gleefully grinning as he noted how the spell took effect and sent him bouncing down the stairs as stiff as a statue.

The necromancer paused, staring at his hands and squinting. What was he doing? Why was he there? The world fogged for a moment until he caught a curious absence of sound that roared louder than any dragon. Wandering slowly upstairs, he blinked blankly at the almost comical scene in front of him. Plants were dancing and swaying with one another, and he stared in bafflement at them for a moment, wondering why in Gehenna he was there, and whether this was his own personal hell.

Two of the plants were in a corner almost across the room, and he had a funny, nagging suspicion that one of them needed something. Probably room from the other plant, and as such he hustled over and reached around the stem of the plant to try and haul it away. His fingers encountered the unmistakable feeling of meat, and as he blinked one of the fronds snapped out and nailed him in the face. He spent a long moment trying to push himself up to his feet, knowing he had to, not knowing why and only feeling unsafe on the ground.

A juju zombie stepped up to him, and he knew he had no magic that might stop it, let alone slow it down. All he had was a dagger, and he watched as a gleaming length of silver punctured into its side, angling around the armor. It looked like he had an ally, but for how long? How long...

"... Xzar?"

He dropped the dagger, staring at his fingers, studying his hands and wrapping his arms around himself. Who was Xzar? Was that his name? It seemed important, and he felt like some things just weren't connecting properly. The nice ghost man beside him seemed to know, however, and gently eased him along by the elbow with fingers that were surprisingly warm, for all that he was an incorporeal specter...

His world skewed once more, normality achieved and he blinked down at the prone form of the groaning Thavian while he stood next to Damion as the archer slowly shook his head, and reached up to rub his temples to try and ease his rapidly spreading headache.


	49. sdrawakcab devres tseB

"... Damion?"

"Welcome back, Xzar."

The necromancer side-eyed the archer, noting the raw red swelling of frostbitten skin.

"... I attacked you."

"You didn't exactly mean it. I attacked you at the Cloakwood mine. I'm starting to get really sick and tired of these mind effecting spells screwing us around, though. Edwin! Are you alright?" Damion peered down as the conjurer peered back up, holding his head.

"... I am wounded in dignity only."

"Come on back up when you're ready."

The Thavian grunted as the archer turned and took stock of where Viconia was tending to her injuries as Baeloth looted the corpses nearby.

"I don't want to go through something like that again. We need to adjust our strategy. Later, though. For now, rest here while I search the rest of this floor. They were on this one for a reason."

"Says the man with an arrow sticking out of his torso. Sit. Heal. We will go, yes? Crim?" Xzar reached up and snagged the archers shoulder, tugging lightly. The familiar hissed, flitting over and landing on the necromancers shoulder before coiling around his upper arm. "You stay, I go. No following."

"Xzar-"

"Atatatatata! Nyet. You are more hurt than you realize."

"I'm fine-"

"Who will turn into golden dust when killed, and who will not?" The necromancer flicked the arrow, drawing a wince from the archer before folding his arms. "See? Leave this to one who was almost useless, yes? We will be back shortly. Am I not your Priest? Do you not trust my judgement?"

Damion let out the sort of long-suffering sigh that would be expected of a parent dealing with their child's pleading, and finally sat down. "Please be careful? I only have one priest at the moment."

"On the tedius topic of tests of trustworthiness, turn your eyes towards this token I've taken." Baeloth stepped closer as Xzar passed him and headed deeper into the level, offering out a piece of parchment. "It seems your brother is cultivating his own cult."

"Charming." The archer grimaced, reading the note as Viconia settled down next to him and started to carefully remove the arrow and murmuring a quiet prayer of healing. "... Thank you, Viconia. Good to see I'm important enough to warrant the intervention of his own faithful. Say, two of those were clerics, weren't they? Anyone catch if they said the names of the deities they prayed to?"

Baeloth and Viconia shared a glance, before shaking their heads as the former answered. "No, unfortunately. Neither did we find symbols of their faith. There was nothing unusual about their weapons beyond that they possess a faint aura of magic, either."

"Maybe they weren't then..." Damion frowned, feeling along his torso and playing with the holes in his shirt. "... Useful as armor is, I feel like it's acting more as a hindering force than a helpful one. Against a lot of the people we're fighting it isn't exactly useful, and the first arrow he shot at me went through it just as easily as it did my shirt."

"This does not mean you should never use it, Abbil. You would be a fool if you did not wear some form of protective layers." The cleric frowned at him, before pushing herself up and offering a hand out to him. As he accepted it and she pulled him up, Edwin made it up the stairs with a slight limp and a scowl, so she turned to address him. "Red Rivvil. Are you injured?"

"Xzar paralyzed him and then pushed him down the stairs." Damion supplied helpfully and holding his hands up with a sheepish smile at the scowl that was turned to him instead.

"(Of all the indignities-!) No. I am -fine-."

"To be fair, I think both you and Xzar were hit by the same spell. Did everything seem weird? Did you black out?" The archer lowered his hands, curious.

"Everyone appeared as an enemy, so this seems particularly likely. I would never have attempted to attack my own party members otherwise. (Doing so is poor form, and it will not be an Odesseiron who breaks trust first.)" The conjurer rubbed his temples, scowl easing marginally. "... The worst of my 'injuries' is a particularly violent headache, although whether such is from the stairs or from the spell it is uncertain at this time."

"I'm glad you're alright, either way. That could have ended badly. It -should- have ended badly." Damion frowned, glancing over as the necromancer returned with some parchment in his hand.

"Our quarry has moved on to Candlekeep, as per some sort of arrangement to negotiate a deal of some kind. As the resident expert on the Great Library, how do you propose we get in?"

"We'd need a book of great value." The archer's eyes narrowed, and he let out a slow breath. "... I'd love to say I was surprised that he's taken this fight to my home, but I'm not. We're going to go there, and the people I grew up with are going to be dead."

"You seem certain of this." Baeloth stretched, before sitting down on the top step. "Care to share with the rest of the class?"

"It's.. Hard to explain. I just know. It's more than a feeling, it's... It's like knowing the sun is going to rise, or that water is wet." Damion frowned, and rubbed his temples. "Let's take this to Scar. Maybe he'll know where to get a book valuable enough."

* * *

It turned out that Harold did not, in fact, have a book valuable enough, but that Duke Eltan instead did. He even went so far as to loan the group horses, and while it was hilarious watching Viconia and Baeloth learn how to ride Damion barely laughed, and rarely smiled. His thoughts were elsewhere during the trip, and even Xzar wasn't able to pull more than a handful of words from him at a time.

And so it was that they sat on their horses in front of the gate, the Gatewarden spoke his piece, received his book and let them in. They brought their horses around to the stable, and found themselves in the common room of the Candlekeep Inn. Damion sat at the table, slouched back in his chair as he watched Winthrop bustle about the bar. It didn't make sense, to him. Everything was just slightly off.

"... Winthrop?"

"Ho, look now, Young Master Dred speaks at last! Always were the quiet one. What can I get ye, lad?" The barkeep set the rag he had been wiping the counter top with down.

"Notice anything strange lately?"

"Other than the folks what came in yesterday for some sorta meeting?" Winthrop frowned, looking thoughtful before shaking his head. "Can't say's I have, Lad."

"Thank you, Winthrop." The archer pushed himself to his feet and started to head out, the rest of his group sharing glances and following.

His path took him north, first, and the first person he saw was a familiar form dressed in blue and gold, sitting in her usual spot and reading. As he approached, she looked up and smiled, waving.

"Knew you'd be back. I finished reading the History of Halruaa! Started on the History of the Unicorn run. Hopefully I won't lose this one."

"Phyldia, have you seen Ulraunt?"

"Should be in the library. Did you come with the group of folks yesterday?"

Damion shook his head, smiled slightly and turned to head to the priest's quarters.

"(Fine, if no one else will say it, then I will.) Are you certain you are not seeing shadows and ghosts where there are none?" Edwin folded his arms, following along and grimacing. At the lack of an answer, he scowled and stepped up to try and lay a hand on the archers shoulder as he opened the door. "Are you even listeni-?"

"Edwin, I can understand how you wouldn't notice things in an unfamiliar setting, but even Baeloth is keeping an eye out behind us. Give it a little longer, and if we don't find anything after we've looked around, then you can say I'm wrong all you want. I can feel it in my bones, though. Something's very, very wrong." Stepping into the building, he paused and blinked at the scene in front of him.

"You're not allowed in here. I'd suggest you leave." The green-robed priest pushed himself up from where he was studying the splayed out body of a barely breathing cat. Damion glanced at the other feline corpses that littered the room, before tilting his head.

"Xzar, close the door, please."

The latch clicked behind the group as the necromancer complied.

* * *

They traveled up the stairs in the library, inquiring and learning as they went. An embarrassing story was shared, information about someone who seemed to know things named Koveras, and more about the prophecies of Alaundo. They were shoo'ed out of the kitchens, and then finally stopped on the stairwell by a black haired human in a dark tunic and leggings.

"I thought I might find you somewhere around here. Allow me to introduce myself..."

Damion paused, frowning faintly. "Please do..."

"My name is Koveras. I used to work for your father, running messages to his Harper friends in Waterdeep. Before he passed on, he entrusted this ring to me and asked that I give it to you should evil ever befall him... Will you take it?" He offered out a ring, watching the archers face intently.

"And what evil befell him, Koveras?" Damion's eyes narrowed. He didn't have to glance back to know that Xzar had slipped to the rear of the party. It would have been warning enough even without the almost distinctive feeling of death that shrouded the other like a cloak.

"You were there, you saw it all. A woman, an armored figure, two ogres wielding clubs. But Gorion's petty magic was of little use against them, was it not? And you, you fled with your tail between your legs, hiding amidst the trees until dawn broke. And now, it comes full circle, doesn't it. The Iron Throne so close you can almost touch them and wreak your revenge for that night." Koveras smiled slightly, still offering the ring out.

"You're right, Koveras. I was there." The archer paused, leaning slightly forward as his hand rested on the pommel of his shortsword. "Myself, my father, and four others who tried to kill us. Where were you, if you know so much?"

"If you be so void of trust, , I am surprised you have made it this far. It is of little matter. Go seek your vengeance or your doom at the hands of the Iron Throne. I wash my hands of it." Koveras scoffed, tucking the ring away and heading downstairs, leaving Damion to stand there and drum his fingers against his belt. He looked up the stairs, knowing the leaders of the Iron Throne were there and then back down as one of the acolytes passed by.

"Xzar, who was he?"

"... I cannot say."

"I _knew_ it!" The archer exploded past the others, bolting down the stairs as the others scrambled to follow. They made it down to the first floor of the keep before Watchers surrounded them with weapons drawn. From near the door, Koveras paused before glancing back and smirking, eyes glowing yellow.

"Damiondred Jetovski! You are under arrest for the murder of the merchant leaders of the Iron Throne!"

The archer watched the murderer of his father leave, swallowing his rage as Sarevok waved farewell and stepped out through the door.


	50. Best served with a friendly face

Damion sat in the Candlekeep cell with his party, back against the wall directly across from the bars. Viconia and Baeloth had claimed a corner each, while Edwin paced restlessly. Xzar, for his part, leaned against the bars with an arm draped through it. Each had been neatly divested of any weapons (which had taken longer for the necromancer, who seemed to have squirreled away a surprising number of knives) and then forced to doff their armor and/or magical robes. Crim sat in a cage nearby that had too fine of a metal mesh for him to slip through, and the cat that had been rescued was pawing at the wider bars of its cage with quiet mews of distress.

Twice now, people had come by to question them. They all answered the same, truthfully, if with different levels of sass, that they hadn't had anything to do with the murders. Each time they were told they had eyewitnesses who testified that they had, in fact, entered into the room and killed Rieltar and the other leaders of the Iron Throne who had come, peacefully, into Candlekeep.

Could they deny that they had come to end them? Most were evasive, and Edwin answered with a brief word about Duke Eltan having hired them to look into a potential threat against his life. Out of them all, Xzar gave the Watchers the least, though this was only because he said absolutely nothing while the rest said only what they had to. Baeloth was told repeatedly to shut up as he diverted and turned the questions to the questioners instead with clever wordplay and lengthy stories that had little to nothing to do with the matter at hand. Viconia scowled and Damion answered in short recalcitrant bursts.

Eventually, the Keeper of the Tomes himself came to see them, and stood silently in front of the cell with his arms folded across the front of his grey robes and the tip of his beard trapped between them and his chest.

"Damiondred."

"Ulraunt."

"I knew you were trouble the moment Gorion brought you here. I should have kicked you both out."

"You always knew what I was, then."

The Halruaan's eyes narrowed, and he remained silent.

"Explains why you never did like me."

"I never liked you because you were a disruption and remain still a thing of inherent ignorance. You cannot be _taught. _All you can do is kill."

"Why are you really here, Ulraunt." Damion idly flicked a stone out through the bars, watching in satisfaction as it landed on the Keeper of the Tomes' foot. "There's nothing that I could say that would convince you of our innocence. Even if I gave you all the proof in the world, you still wouldn't let us go."

"I wanted to see for my own eyes the murderer you had become. Gorion wasted his time, and his life. His death is on your-"

The archer was up and against the bars, before he had finished the sentence, slamming his hands against the metal, the sound causing Ulraunt to jump slightly.

"Sarevok murdered my father, you stuck up _horse-faced Halruaan hedge-mage hack_, and you let him walk in and frame my companions and I for a murder we didn't commit and then let him walk right out of here again. Go back to your books and your safe dusty little hole."

With that, he turned and stalked back to where he had sat before, put his back to the wall, and slid back down onto his rump.

* * *

"Damion?"

The archers head lifted slightly, and he quietly eyed the red-robed human who had crept up quietly.

"Tethtoril? I would have thought Ulraunt would have made sure nobody was allowed to visit." He pushed himself up, stepping quietly towards the bars. Of his companions, Viconia seemed to be praying, Baeloth was stretched out with an arm over his eyes, Edwin had sat down and taken a stab at meditating and Xzar was sitting against the back wall, knees drawn up and arms wrapped around himself. The elderly human chuckled quietly, nodding.

"He did. Tried to, at least. Did you really kill them?"

"No. The Iron Throne has shown a predisposition towards using doppelgangers. That's the only thing I can think of that would have let them frame like this, but the Keeper is too blinded by his own hatred that he couldn't see the truth if it bit him on the nose." Damion leaned against the bars, frowning. "This... Doesn't look like a surprise to you."

"Because it is not. Magic can do many things, reveal the truth of someone being but one of them. You -are- right, though, and by the time I will have convinced the Old Buzzard of this it will be too late. The Flaming Fist has been sent to collect you and bring you to Baldur's Gate. If this is as much a sham as it seems, I fear you will not survive the trip." Kind blue eyes crinkled at the corners as Tethtoril raised his hands, starting to go through a series of gestures and motions. "I have secured your belongings, but you still must be careful along the path through the Candlekeep Catacombs. All I ask is that you hurry to Baldur's gate to bring the truth of the matter to the light."

"I thought nobody could teleport through a dimensional lock." The archer gaped slightly, recognizing the spell. The rest of his party were sharing glances and starting to get back to their feet.

"Well. Fortunately, it appears that Nobody is doing this then." Tethtoril winked, and the world around Damion lurched.

* * *

The archer took a step forward, blinking and glancing about as the rest of his party moved towards the separate piles of their own personal effects. Crim flit over and curled around his arm, nudging him and causing him to shake his head slightly.

"Well. I guess I can stop planning ways to disable guards as they open the cell." Damion cleared his throat, and turned to his own pile of effects to start re-equipping his items. The first order of business was his boots, and he sighed as he wiggled his socked toes within them.

"(It is good to know he -had- a plan at least.) Do you have a new plan, then?" Edwin's first choice was the amulet that he hung around his neck and spent a moment clutching, tension fading as he took a more militaristic stance and started to pull his robes on over his leggings and thin silk shirt.

"I do. We get out of here, and go back to the Iron Throne building to see if we missed anything. If Sarevok is there as well, we kill hi-" The archer paused, pulling a letter from his pack and turning it over. "Well hello there. Where did you come from?"

"Abbil, there is movement on the other side of this door. We should move, and quickly."

"I'll read it later, don't worry." Tucking it away, he donned the studded leather armor Imoen had given him and collected his bow before looking back at the rest of the party. Xzar was helping Viconia finish up with her armor, but aside from that everyone looked ready to go. "I've never been through this area. Let's move carefully and use the methods we used in Cloakwood. I'll scout ten feet ahead checking for traps, everyone else behind Viconia. Xzar at the back, in case something sneaks up behind us since he has the greatest familiarity with close-range combat, Baeloth directly behind Viconia since he also has an innate ability to resist magic."

The party shuffled as needed, and they started down the narrow tunnels.

* * *

They were doing good, right up until they reached the second level. Teleporting spiders, ancient traps that protected magical books, piles of corpses and ghouls notwithstanding, they carefully rationed all spells beyond the archers three meager identify's. They were well spent, however, as they revealed an Evermemory ring, a tome of understanding and a manual of gainful exercise. The ring was given to Edwin, as the other two major casters in the group already had an exemplary magical item each in the form of their robes. Damion kept the books: it was a three day walk back to Baldur's Gate, and he planned to proverbially devour one of them along the road.

No, the issue's started on the second level, when Phlydia happened upon them and started hissing about how her book had never been returned. Lurching forward, she seemed startled by how an arrow buried into her shoulder and turned grey, form melting into that of the doppelganger that had been expected.

"Unless they surrender or flee, they are the enemy." The instruction was given calmly as Damion nocked another arrow and took aim. Antechambers proved to be full of creatures wearing the faces of people he knew, though the center of the room was filled with skeletons that Viconia easily turned and set to fight among each other. That wasn't even the worst of it, considering he had a party full of people who decidedly lacked any moral restrictions when it came to killing people. The only two they let leave were Arkanis and Deder, two people who acted just as confused and agreed to leave them alone if they were in turn left alone.

The worst of it, was up a set of stairs that led to the hallway out of that section of rooms, his father waited. Flanked by Elminster and Tethtoril. Gorion stepped up, spreading his hands and looking relieved.

"Ahh, my child,"

_You dare-_

"-I am glad I have found you."

"Father." Damion inclined his head and eased the bow down. "I watched you die."

"Elminster found me and brought me to the song of the morning temple. While recovering, I heard you were imprisoned, and came to rescue you." Gorion walked down the stairs, hands outstretched. "You have suffered so much, since my death. Come, we must get you out of here."

"-That's- what your old man looked like?" Baeloth leaned in slightly, as if it would give him a better view before glancing at the archer as he drew in a slow breath only to let it back out as he raised the bow and leveled it at his father, who paused mid-step and held his hands up.

"Have you succumbed to your bloodline so thoroughly, that you would raise a weapon against me, too? Has there not been enough death and murder in this place, my child?" The grey-robed mage frowned, looking crestfallen.

"You have no idea how much I want to believe you. How much I wish he wasn't dead. You have his voice and his face though. Tell me, do I let you live a lie, locked into his form or do I kill you here and now?"

"Come now lad, thy mind must clearly be addled by the trauma that ha-" Elminster stepped forward, only to have the bow shift subtly to aim for him. Viconia lifted her shield slightly higher, and stepped forward a half-step.

"If you're -really- Elminster, then Edwin is going to have one of his greatest wishes fulfilled as he kicks your arse. Tell me, if you're really who you say you are, then I have a question for Tethtoril." The arrow's point drifted back towards Gorion as the hooded, red-robed figure raised his hands.

"Yes?"

"Who let us out of the cell?"

"I did."

"Wrong answer. Leave the one that looks like Gorion for me. Kill the others."


	51. Best served in bits and pieces

He kept track of the doppelganger that had worn Gorions face largely by making sure it was the only one that had arrows sticking out of it at any given time. Xzar and Baeloth went for Tethtoril while Viconia and Edwin went for Elminster, and soon the room erupted into chaos. A pair of acid arrows burrowed into one of the trio of now grey, featureless humanoids as a mace was made to miss the swiftly blurred outline of another even as a line of fire scorched past the cleric. Barrages of magic missiles were used to finish them off, all while Damion herded the one who had worn Gorions face away from the others.

It stepped up? It was grazed in the leg. It reached out to claw one of the archers companions? It was shot in the arm. It spun to howl at Damion? It was shot in the shoulder, or the hip, somewhere that was preferably non-vital. Once its companions had stopped twitching, it pulled Gorions face back over its own.

"My child, please, you must listen to reason-" It swallowed, talking faster as the bow was lowered ever so slightly. "I-I never wanted to hurt you, I was... This was just a job. It was never -ever- anything personal, and-"

"Don't call me that. You're not Gorion."

"S-Sorry! I-a- I surrender!" It held its uninjured hand up higher, limping backwards and swallowing dryly. "Let me live, and-and I'll tell you everything I know! You- You want to see your father, to hear his voice, right? I can do that for you! I won't look like him unless you want me to, b-but you miss him, right?"

"You're reading my mind, aren't you." The bow was raised once more, and it flinched as it pressed back against the wall it found itself against.

"I... Well, yes. And to that question, yes as well. Ah-YES! Yes I did. It w-was only for an hour or so. I was disguised as an acolyte." It swallowed dryly once more, partially curling before whispering. "You... You mean that? An end to my pain, and you'll let me go...?"

Damion stared at the doppelganger, before a smile twisted the corners of his lips upwards.

"Read my mind."

* * *

They learned that Sarevok had laid an ambush for them in the caves when they watched the doppelganger hobble out and chat with the group laying in wait. When it convinced the group that Damion and his companions were being shipped out as they spoke, they cleared the way ahead and took care of the basilisks to boot. Baeloth gave the party cover with a spell of invisibility, and they slipped through the tunnels after the group and exited only to find the doppelganger waiting for them as the group that had been set to ambush them ambled off into the distance.

"There. I upheld my part of the bargain." It shifted its form from one of the guards back into its natural, hairless grey shape and inspected its wounds for a moment. "You promised healing, and to let me g-"

An arrow split its skull, and it dropped to the ground with a thud before Damion stepped over its corpse.

"It's a long walk to Baldur's Gate. Let's get going."

* * *

Harold 'Scar' Loggerson sat in his comfortable office, on his uncomfortable wooden chair, wearing pinchy splint mail that had been uncomfortable the first three months he had worn it. He had finished his reports for the day, and had ended up staying late once more. He didn't have to look towards the window to know there was someone climbing quietly in through it, nor did he have to go to the door and open it to know that most of the guards who were left were just outside, prepping to break it down. It was the stillness and silence in the air that spoke of the incoming ambush, and he sighed quietly to himself even as he dropped his hands onto his lap.

"How much did they pay you, to be the first one to try tonight?"

"... More than you're worth, Old Man."

The second in command of the Flaming Fists shook his head, and sighed once more.

* * *

"Duke Eltan seriously ill after attempt on life by second in command! Angelo Dosan has replaced the former second in command of the Flaming Fist Mercenaries! Harold 'Scar' Loggerson killed in attempt on Duke Eltan's life! Murderers of the Iron Throne Leaders killed in escape attempt!"

It was almost surreal, hearing the town criers shouting the news as they practically ghosted through the city to one of the lesser used side streets and levered the grate open and slipped down into the sewers. The grate was tucked back into place and they traveled down the tunnel for a few moments before Edwin curled his fingers and produced a small, sustained burst of fire that danced above the palm of his hand. It looked odd, hovering there in mid-air as he remained invisible.

"So much for our in with the Flaming Fist. (Though, I should have seen this coming. It was too good to be true, that we might so easily have one in our pocket...)" The Thavian wrinkled his nose as he stepped carefully alongside the muck, free hand holding the hem of his robes and cloak up and hoping the illusion covered cloth was high enough that it wouldn't drag and get dirty. "What is the plan now, oh great leader?"

"Get to Duke Eltan, and find out what the hell is going on. After that, we hit the Iron Throne building. Saving a Duke will give us a better chance going forward, and I get the feeling something's not quite right. There's no way Scar would have attacked him, they were practically brothers." Damion felt along the fletching of an arrow, taking stock of where they were before drawing it and blindly finding the bowstring to nock it into place. "Viconia, do you have anything to cure sickness?"

"I have one such spell prepared, Abbil. If we use it on the human I will have no more if we encounter ghouls again." The drow shifted slightly, the plates of her armor scraping against each other.

"We'll make sure we don't get hit by any then. I'll take point, everyone else follow Viconia." He turned and stepped quickly ahead of the group, and led the way.

* * *

Imoen sat in her room in the Elfsong Tavern, sniffling and hugging her pillow. Dami -couldn't- have killed people in Candlekeep. He just -couldn't- have. Unfortunately, she didn't have the priceless tome to go in and see for herself, so she stayed in Baldur's Gate and spoke to nobody. Jaheria tried, Khalid tried, Xan got the closest but still failed to get more than a slight smile that immediately dissolved into sniffles and more tears. Dynaheir and Minsc had successfully taken a ship out of the city, so it was too late to call them back and ask them to help get to the bottom of things.

She rubbed her face free of tears once more, before pushing herself to her feet and moving to the window. It was just about nightfall, and -somebody- had to do something about .

It didn't take her long to find something interesting. In one of the alley ways, someone she had mistaken for a hobo jerked and shook his head before pushing himself up and staggering a few steps towards the end of the alley. Light from the nearby buildings glinted off of torn splint mail, and he seemed to almost drag the crossbow he held.

"... Are you okay?" Her voice seemed so small as it entered the world, and a scarred face turned towards her with a look of surprise.

* * *

There wasn't much chance of them sneaking -through- the Flaming Fist's headquarters, but let it never be said that they didn't try and talk their way through.

"Hi. We're here to see Duke Eltan-"

"Reports said he was dead! Kill him!"

It was a short, if ugly fight from there on. Six flaming fist mercenaries that were in the middle of charging towards the group when no fewer than three fireballs flit forward and exploded out from the center of the room, rolling out to just barely touch the door and leaving four corpses and two very burned individuals who were put down quickly. Edwin glanced at Xzar as the necromancer twirled the wand of fire he had used and blew across the stylized dragon-headed tip. The commotion drew one more guard from upstairs down, but on seeing them he raised his hands and smiled.

"You! I'd hoped the reports were wrong. Please, you have to help Eltan. There's a guard at his room and the healer tending to him, I don't trust him. I can't take them myself."

"Did Scar actually attack him?" Damion kept an arrow nocked, just in case, though Xzar nudged his elbow lightly and murmured something about this one being trustworthy.

"I... I don't know. By the time I got in that morning, the bodies had been cleared and the Duke was in his room, being 'tended' to."

Damion nodded, before gesturing for the guard to lead the way up the stairs.

"After you, then."

* * *

As it turned out, Duke Eltan had killed the doppelganger that had worn Scars face when it attacked him. What happened to the actual Mister Loggerson debatable, though it was generally thought that during the fighting that had tossed his office he had either been kidnapped or killed and dumped into the harbor. As they discussed the turn of events in the city, Xzar slipped out of the room and eased down the stairs to find the guard that had helped them.

"Good to see you survived, Shapesnatch."

The guard glanced back at the necromancer, before smiling easily. "After a decade of silence, it's good to see you too, Deathstalker. Surely you didn't just come down here to out me to an empty room."

"No, I didn't, and don't call me Shirley." He moved to one of the charred corpses and started poking through its pockets. "What are your plans after this? You've sold out your own kind, now. The Bhaalspawn that hired you won't be too pleased with you about that."

"No, I don't think he will be. My kin went into this forewarned that working for one of his kind would invariably prove fatal, yet here we are. Same sort of circumstances as the last time we met, isn't it, though the roles are reversed. If I recall correctly, I bid a dozen of my kin to storm a burning church and pulled you from the wreckage, all because your pastor went mad with power and was slaughtering his own flock for... What was the reason again? I never did find out." The guard stepped away from the stairs before leaning to peer down each of the hallways.

"There wasn't one. This was why we hired you, after all. What will you do now?"

"Probably disappear. I'm fairly good at that, after all." The guard rubbed a hand over his face as his form shortened and slimmed. Raking a hand back through its hair, the locks elongated and lightened before she put her helmet on. "I don't want to die, and damned if I'm going against the Bhaalspawn you're working for."

"Two questions then, before you go." Xzar turned to round on the doppelganger as she glanced at him and kept an eye on where his hands were as one dipped into his sleeve and then retrieved the bolt that had broken through the window of the Iron Throne's fifth floor. "One, do you know who uses these crossbow bolts?"

"Looks like one of the ones Harold used. He's the only one I've ever seen dye their fletching in green and black bands."

"Ah. And second, do you know what _his_ next step is?" The bolt disappeared back up the necromancer's sleeve.

"Not particularly, but I -do- know the Iron Throne's in shambles with how Sarevok took control of it. If I had to make a recommendation, I'd say check there."

Xzar smiled, and wiggled his fingers as the doppelganger made good on the opportunity to escape.


	52. Best served by monologue

_Content warning: Bad-guy monologue dialogue is straight from the game._

* * *

Damion was glad they had mapped the sewers. It made carrying Duke Eltan from the flaming fist headquarters to the Harbormaster that much easier, though climbing up the somewhat slick ladder with a fully grown human tied to his back made the archer want to die a little inside. He was -heavy-, and Damion wasn't exactly built to carry heavy loads.

Still, they made it in due time and slipped quietly into the Harbormasters building to relinquish the wounded Duke to the halfling there and then carefully timed their way across the docks to slip into the Iron Throne building, one by one. On entering, they found what parts of it weren't abandoned were in chaos, with people leaving left right and center and exclaiming something about an imminent coronation. They continued up to the top floor, before being stopped by a woman in a gold and crimson robe.

"Mmmm, so you've come back. If you were smart, Damiondred, you would have left well enough alone. I don't know how you escaped my lord's trap at Candlekeep, but you won't be getting any further than here. Why did you come back here?I would have thought you would have gone after Sarevok directly."

"Oh, you know how it goes. Dropped my keys, someone said I left them on the desk here beside where Brother Dearest keeps his evil plans for domination so that I could clear my name." Damion knocked an arrow as the three arcane casters of his party fanned out behind him. Viconia stepped forward just enough to offer him cover.

"Who told you to come here?! Who betrayed my lord?! It was Tamako, wasn't it?"

The archer opened his mouth to answer, ask a question, anything and shared a backwards glance with a casting and shrugging Xzar as she proceeded to talk over him.

"I always knew her to be a traitorous whore! Well, it matters little if she did or did not - all that matters is that you will die!" Her voice rose to a shriek, and she held a hand up as two ogres appeared in a cloud of acidic greens, yellows and blacks while the Bhaalspawn's world seemed to stand still for a moment, pausing. Unable to move, unable to breath, a calmness settled over his mind and he considered his options. Everything was visible in grey scale tones, and the sudden realization that he could stretch these instants into eternities dawned on the archer as he mentally smiled while considering his options.

Two ogres, one mage. Dependent on the type of conjuration at work, the ogres might disappear if the mage was brought down but his mages would need at least twelve seconds to bring her down. This would leave them at the mercy of the ogres, as Viconia was but one person and wouldn't likely be able to choke the passage way to keep both ogres back at the same time. Certain of his course of action, he thought for a moment about how to move and panicked briefly when he realized he didn't know how to undo what he seemed to have done.

_Calm down. Relax._

His copy stepped out from behind an ogre, clasping his hands behind his back as he padded closer.

_This isn't magic. It isn't that you have stopped the world, I have simply... Accelerated your mind. This is one of my gifts to you. I've thought about it, you know._

The manifested taint paused next to Viconia, studying her before tilting his head.

_I have decided that you made several good points. We get our strength from death, from the act of killing itself, and any faith that cannibalizes itself is doomed to fail. I wonder how long you will be able to keep these five stars orbiting about yourself, with how willingly or not you draw death into your presence. Will you survive long enough to ascend into godhood? Will they?_

His image smirked at him, before stepping up to stand beside him, just out of his line of sight.

_I do not fancy losing myself to our progenitor's ego._ _ Are you ready?_

He would have nodded if he could, and felt a hand rest on his shoulder.

* * *

Stepping over the bodies of the ogres, he approached the dead mage and carefully lifted the book he found in the small pouch of personal effects free. Cracking open the cover, he frowned at what he found within and turned to look at Xzar as the necromancer pulled free one of the ogres eyes, squishing it between his fingers.

"Xzar, the sect of Cyric worshippers that were in this city, were they attached to the Zhentarim?"

"Mmm, past tense. They are all dead and gone now. They welcomed us here from overseas."

"I imagine you giggled and laughed as they were killed, and that's how he realized you weren't a follower of their god. Don't answer that."

The necromancer tilted his head before ambling over and leaning in to inspect the diary that the archer was still skimming through. "This is..."

"Sarevok's diary. There's also two letters there. Let me know if there's anything important in them."

Xzar bowed slightly, stooping to snag both letters and start scanning through them. "... You have long since come to terms with my inability to speak of certain things, it seems."

"I've better things to be angry about. It's frustrating, but Sarevok's my target, not you." Damion continued to flip through the pages of the book, skimming through until he found paragraphs that seemed to catch his attention more than others. "It's not as if I don't understand why you can't, either. You, Xzar, are a man of _faith_ and until I own yours I'll remain pleasantly surprised at whatever help you do give me. There's no point getting upset about something I can't actively change yet."

"Level headed. Collected. Dedicated to your purpose..." The necromancer crooned softly, reaching out as if to touch the archers hair before drawing his hand back to chew lightly on a fingernail. "... The letters dictate assassination attempts and the location of the assassins. They will likely have an invitation that will get us into the ducal palace, if we kill them quickly enough."

Damion closed the book and tucked it away to peruse at a later date and held a hand out. "Let me see then."

* * *

Not for the first time (and he was rapidly coming to realize not likely for the last time either) the Bhaalspawn was happy his little party had mapped what they had of the sewers. Baeloth and Edwin seemed to know precisely where they were going as well, which made Damion fight the way he was turning red in the face when the Entertainer slyly mentioned why.

"While we wander and while away our time in the Undercellar, why don't we win a wench for the weary womanless wonder what is our leader?" Baeloth grinned back at the archer who was utterly thankful that the helmet that gave him infravision covered his face.

"Business before pleasure, Baeloth. Once Sarevok's head sits at my feet I'll consider it."

"Your hatred for him has grown, Abbil." Viconia frowned at Damion's back as he shrugged.

"He paid a doppelganger to wear my father's face and the faces of the people I grew up with, specifically to torment me. He sent assassins to hound my steps after murdering my father -and- framed all of you for killing the leaders of the Iron Throne before we were even able to, thus getting us imprisoned. At this point, I'm not entirely certain if I want to kill him or if I want to watch you and Xzar take him apart. I don't normally go in for the screams of my enemies, but for Sarevok? He's very close to being an exception."

"The longer he is tortured, the greater the chance he has to escape or be rescued. (Really, is the simian so dense that he does not know even this?)" Edwin's look of mild annoyance was visible in the light of the small flame he kept cupped in the palm of his hand, using it to make sure he didn't step in anything and shaking his head. "It is better to simply kill him and move on."

Xzar tilted his head, trailing along behind the group. "Ohh, but you did not _see_, did you. He bemoaned the fact that our intrepid leader's mortal father died far too quickly for his tastes."

"When we fight, I want you guys to focus on his attendants. Just like I want you to focus on the task at hand, considering I believe we've arrived." The archer nodded towards the door that was flanked by red glowing lanterns. "We're here for someone named Slythe and his wife. Spread out, and meet back here if you find something. If you find them, do not engage until we know what they're capable of or until I shoot one of them. These are two assassins that took down a Grand Duke. I don't like being blind like this."

"I shall peruse my preferred people and perceive what can be peeped at." Baeloth winked, before pushing open the door and sweeping in, ignoring how Edwin rolled his eyes as the rest of them followed him in. They had just started spreading out when a human wearing rustic yellows who's image seemed oddly blurred looked up and grinned at them. Briefly, the archer spotted his copy eyeing the man up and down before meeting the bhaalspawn's eyes.

_This is him. Can't you smell the blood on his hands? Feel the death that surrounds him?_

"Well, well, well, dear. What have we here... Blade fodder?" Slythe grinned and stretched as he stood up from the couch, watching Damion as the archer wasted no time, bolting and hanging a hard left. The rest of his party continued to spread out, spotting the reason for their leaders burst of speed, a few of them frowning at the center of the chamber as a female voice seemed to come from thin air.

"I don't know, Slythe. They're so big and threatening... Oh my mistake, I was thinking of someone else."

Xzar tucked into the northeastern chamber, eyes narrowing as he drew the dragon-headed orange wand and finished the incantation for the protective spell of armor that shimmered into existence and then faded from sight. Leaning, he could see Damion as he settled a little ways up the hallway, speaking with one of the courtesans to try and get her to start clearing people out of the area.

"Ohh, she's got a tongue of steel and a heart of gold, my Krystin does... And she's so pretty that she makes herself all invisible so guys don't give her a hassle. Not that they would with a tough guy like me looking after her, of course..."

Viconia settled just above the twp steps that led to the pillow-laden circular depression that Slythe was grinning at those he could see of their party. She adjusted her grip on her mace and studied the blurred human as courtesans slipped away down the halls, glancing back with a mix of fear and apprehension.

"Slythie-baby, you tell them honey..."

"Oh baby, you know me. You know your Slythie... Hey you, don't you go watchin' us go all mushy, alright? It ain't none of your business... What's that you're whispering, sweetheart? ... Hey now, my girl Krystin tells me that yous all have a spot spot for the Grand Dukes. Sure is a shame about Entar Silvershield, isn't it?"

Edwin murmured an incantation under his breath, warding himself and shaking his head as he waited for the signal that they were all in position and ready to go. His eyes flit from Viconia to where Baeloth stood a handspan of paces behind her, noting the subtle way the sorcerer was flicking and weaving his fingers as he concentrated and turned to head to the north western passage.

"One down and two to go. Poor Dukes... Wouldn't it have been better if they had all died together?"

"Bah, Krystin, don't give it all away like that, now. It's on... what do they call it again, the silver bladder? ... Ah, enough of this cat and mouse stuff, anyhow. I ain't cut out for it. We'll kill'em now and do the Dukes after lunch like Sarevok said us to."

Baeloth slowly shifted closer to Viconia, close to finishing his incantation. The pair of them were potentially the more attractive target (which he had mixed feelings about) but the fact that it had been praised as critical and key to any combat had been flattery enough to get him to agree. There was also the fact that _nobody else in their party except for Viconia_ could shrug off spells that made him smug. It was just another thing added to the long list of ways he was superior to Edwin. He made sure to wink over at the Thavian smugly.

"Mmm, I love you for your mind, Slythe."

Baeloth's spell went off, and the glowing orb of emerald green floated into the center of the room before exploding outwards in two separate smaller sections, one striking Slythe to solidify his outline and the other pulling a beautiful woman in a short black dress lined with yellow out of the invisibility she had been concealed by. She snarled, raising her hands and finishing her spells in time to snap a wavering field of blue into place that halted the magic missiles Edwin had tried to pepper her with.

"You'll reach the Hells before Krystin!"

Slythe bolted up the steps, drawing a particularly long dagger as he charged at Edwin. Viconia moved to intercept, swinging with the mace and cursing as she missed before a wash of flame rolled out from the center of the room, stopping just short of the Thavian. Baeloth cursed and launched into a second round of spellcasting, narrowing his eyes at Krystin as Xzar stepped out of the room he had ducked back into and wove his hands rapidly in the same pattern. He was almost insulted until he caught their opponents hands flicking through their own series of motions, and realized it was meant to cast in counter.

The necromancer knew the spell she was pulling into being, and knew it well. It was one of his favorites in function, after all, and grit his teeth as he fought to time his counter for the moment Baeloth tore down the protective barrier that made her immune to lower level spells. With a grimace, he realized that the sorcerer's spell hadn't successfully dismantled the minor globe and shifted his target ever so slightly as he completed his casting.

Waves of acidic green fog rolled outwards, chased by an expanding halo of emerald green that gave everyone the Cloudkill touched a six-second chance to get out of the cloud before the suspended effects took hold once more. Xzar wasn't certain he had ever seen the Thavian run as fast as he spotted him doing so, backpedaling with the dagger-wielding assassin in pursuit and cursing as he snarled.

"Of course I must do everything myself-!" Edwin dove to the side as Slythe stabbed and caught the edge of his robes, tearing through them and catching the conjurer along the ribs before an arrow slammed into the assassins shoulder and sending him staggering forward a step. Viconia followed it with a vicious downward strike with the mace, catching Slythe across the shoulder and drawing his attention for the time being, giving the Thavian time to get out of range.

The blue shimmering field flickered and vanished, leaving Baeloth looking terribly pleased with himself a few paces from Krystin before Xzar peppered her with magic missiles from just beyond the edge of the cloud. She already had a pair of arrows sticking out of her back, and spun to spit out a return volley plus one extra, leaving the necromancer staggering back a step and smarting from the impacts.

Damion turned back to the enemy caster and resumed firing arrows at her, trying to ruin her concentration as she lifted her hands to start casting another spell as a second barrage of magic missiles found purchase across her torso as Edwin finished passing through the chamber on the west side of the fight. Baeloth backpedaled away, hands rising as he sought to add his own barrage to the mix while Viconia brought the shield up and picked off another dagger strike by Slythe.

Xzar turned to where the two melee combatants were trading blows, frowning as he noted their cleric fighting more and more defensively with every strike before narrowing his eyes and running through the green vapors and ignoring the way it burned his eyes, fingers flicking through the motions of a spell that was second nature and sheathing his hands in crackling purple-black flames. He caught Slythe by surprise as he clawed at the fighters armor, feeling the magic seep through the studded leather and feed him the life that it stole. He gritted his teeth as the long dagger came for him, sliding through the defensive enchantment he had woven and burying itself to the hilt in his stomach as he clawed out with another hand, wavering between pained and exultant at the rush of stolen life as his second strike sealed the wound as the dagger was torn free of him.

It was enough of a distraction that Viconia was able to mend some of her wounds with a prayer before she came back into the fray. Baeloth's barrage finished Krystin off, allowing Edwin and Damion to turn and focus their fire on the fighter sandwiched between the cleric and necromancer. Another two stabs later, and Xzar was starting to worry that he was being killed faster than his vampiric touch could heal him, considering even with the mace being applied across his back and shoulders he seemed determined to go for the mage in the robe.

One particularly vicious strike almost crippled him, catching him high in left side of the chest and leaving the necromancer gasping for air and spitting blood, certain Slythe had jut hit a lung until a potion was dumped over him, soaking into his robes and sealing the worst of the damage even as Damion swept past in a spin. Shortsword in one hand, the Bhaalspawn tossed the empty vial away and brought the blade up on an angle to slip it between the assassins ribs, even as the long dagger found a home in his side. Reaching out, he pulled Slythe in by the caller as the other gasped and wheezed, shortsword having found something vital in his chest.

"I expected you to hit harder." Letting Slythe drop, the archer turned away from the dying man as he drew his blade free of the assassins ribs to survey Xzar. "Are you okay?"

"Admittedly, we have been better." The necromancer felt at the raw, raised skin through the hole in his robes that was scarring even as it healed, the purple-black flames vanishing. Turning his head, he coughed and spat to clear his mouth of blood before surveying the others in the group. Baeloth had shifted to sit down on the first step as the cloudkill faded, coughing into a handkerchief and grimacing at the blood he saw as a result. Edwin was carefully picking his way over, intent on going through Krystin's effects in search of her spellbook and Viconia was standing a short ways away with her eyes closed, lips moving as she quietly prayed and mended her own wounds. "We lost nobody, it appears."

"If Baeloth hadn't been able to tear her defenses down, we would have. She started casting that same cloud spell that she did the first time."

"Cloudkill." Xzar moved to find a serviceable cushion and sit down, rubbing his temples. "It kills the weak, and poisons those that are too strong otherwise. Holding your breath does naught to stop its touch."

"Interesting..." Damion crouched down, starting to go through Slythe's pockets, ahhing quietly. "... Rings, and invitations. So! Who wants to go to a ball as Krystin?"

"-Really-, do you have to ask? Of all of you -I'm- the only one that looks good in a dress." Baeloth lounged, eyes shuttered as he grinned at the others.


	53. Best served in a dress

_Content warning: It's only a robe if you wear something under it._

* * *

"Baeloth?"

The drow hummed inquisitively as he continued applying a smooth layer of concealer across his dark skin. He had to be particularly careful around his eyes, though the black eyeliner would _doubtless_ help with that part...

"How did you get rid of her globe? It should have been impossible for your diminished state, given what we found in her spellbook. Don't mistake me, I'm definitely glad that you did, but I wanted to know how, just in case I might be able to learn something from it." Damion frowned at his own reflection from where he stood next to the sorcerer, trying to remember how to fluff the ruffles of his shirt and make them stay fluffed. "I don't think anyone else could have done that."

"Nobody else _could_ have, no. Some standard casters think they're so _smart_, but when it comes to stuff such as the secrets of sorcerers, you're all _shambles_." Baeloth fought to keep the smug grin from crossing his face as he continued to artfully coat himself with makeup. "Metamagic, my most meddlesome man. I heightened the spell to cast it at the level of power I used to once be at. Believe you me, there were none so powerful as I from whence I came."

"The blood you were spitting up wasn't only from the cloudkill spell, was it."

"Tsh. Too observant for your own good. I -have- been healed, you know." The sorcerer eased some of the soft red stain along his lower lip, only to press his lips together. He almost wished he had more time so that he could have done his own hair, but as it stood there was a necromancer and cleric of Shar directly behind him working his long white locks into a series of intricate braids.

"I know. I-Ow! Edwin!" Damion flinched as the Thavian sneered and continued to pull the archers slicked back hair into a tight tail, tying the short tuft off at the nape of his neck.

"Your hair is neither short enough to style properly, nor long enough to properly tie back. (Seriously, must the chimp make -everything- difficult, simply by breathing?)"

"Try and leave some attached, is all I ask." He grimaced, before resuming adjusting the clothes that didn't quite fit him. "We only have two invitations. I'm using one, because Sarevok, and Baeloth is going because he somehow wears a dress better than Viconia and Xzar combined. That leaves you Edwin, Xzar, and Viconia that we need to get in. Xzar can pull the Zhentarim card - we really should report to them anyways and let them know that Sarevok's the only one left - but then that narrows it down to Viconia and Edwin..."

"(It is as if he thinks me born of low blood. Pfa!) Do not concern yourself with requiring a method to smuggle -me- in."

"-Which then leaves Viconia."

"Are you certain it is _wise_ for us to be there?" Xzar kept his tone light as he and the cleric started to weave the mass of braids together into a series of larger ones.

"I wouldn't want you anywhere else. Let it never be said that I didn't give you ample opportunity to do your job." The bhaalspawn smirked slightly, studying his reflection. Viconia had lightened his complexion before he had carefully slipped the shirt on, and he lifted his chin to study how seamlessly it had been done. "You've gotten very good at this, Viconia."

"I have had ample time to practice. Even with the writ you arranged, it is a good skill to have here on the surface. You will not be able to smuggle your bow into this gathering." She frowned, still working with the necromancer on the braids.

"No. And I suppose that while I still prefer to shoot things, I'm less specialized than an archer at this point. I planned to take the short sword and a dagger, just in case."

"Do not be concerned with me. Shar is a goddess of trickery. I will need only six or so seconds of distraction."

"I'm presuming the ducal palace would normally have wards and the like, but considering Sarevok will be apparently able to just invite a pair of assassins-"

"M'lord?"

All five in front of the vanity in Duke Eltan's bedroom abruptly spun to face the maid as she stepped in and closed the door behind her.

"Oh good. It's just you lot."

"Xzar? Is this your door-opening contact?"

"It isss." The necromancer crossed the room, lifting his hands and clapping the slender figures shoulders. "Tell me you have news."

"It looks like there will be anywhere from six to ten doppelgangers there, with two greater." It reached up, scratching behind its ear before shrugging and looking to the others. "I can also smuggle one person in through the servant's quarters, but that's about it. Anything more and people will suspect. -My- people will suspect. It's hard enough as it is to hide that I'm actively stabbing them in the back doing this."

"Are all doppelgangers able to read minds?" The rogue turned back to the mirror, giving himself one last once-over as the Thavian brushed his shoulders off.

"Do not forget. Square shoulders, head high. You play the part of a noble. (This is going to fail the very moment he gets through the doors.)"

"Aye, all of us have that ability." It stepped around the necromancer with a bundle of clothes under its arm, and squinted at each of them in turn. "So who am I taking with me?"

"I suppose it will make my attempted entry easier." Viconia frowned, before narrowing her eyes. "How will I tell you from the others, if you needs must alter your own shape?"

"Its earring." Xzar stepped forward smoothly, moving back to help finish Baeloth's braids. "It matches the clasp of our cloak, yes? It is a cursed item, one that it can never remove. It and a number of its clan were forced to wear them by some few members of Bhaal's clergy, as he employed them as assassins and sought a method to mark them in a crowd."

"I wondered..." Damion frowned at his reflection before stepping aside so that Edwin could start preening himself. "So you serve Bhaal, then?"

"Not particularly. It was a matter of convenience, at the time. My clan lived in the city, and hunters started trying to track us down. We traded safety in exchange for indentured servitude." The doppelganger tucked the clothes onto the bed, before stretching idly.

"And what's your name?"

"It doesn't really matter, does it?"

* * *

"Invitations, please."

Baeloth deftly slipped both scrolls out of his clutch, batting his eyes as he smiled behind the fan he held in his other hand. His voice was a smooth soprano, and he swayed mesmerizingly where he stood slightly in front of Damion. "Here you are, Sir."

"Krystin, is it?" The guard glanced up from where he was reading the invitation, eyes glued to the Entertainers chest. Two remarkably realistic-looking mounds filled out the bodice of his high-collar, sleeveless jade silk dress generously.

"Mmyes Sir."

"Welcome to the Ducal Palace."

"Thank's, Hon. Slythie-baby, shall we?" Baeloth offered out his arm, and Damion fought the urge to took it graciously before the two of them strode in.

"Bae?"

"Yes baby?"

Damion leaned in to murmur into the sorcerer's ear, fighting to keep his face straight. "... How in the nine hells did you fill the chest of your dress out?"

"My bosom?" Baeloth turned his head to murmur back to the rogue. "Wineskins, you pleb. So long as they don't get _squeezed_ they work wonders."

"Something tells me this isn't the first time you've done this."

The drow-in-disguise smirked at him from where he was whispering into his ear. "Is that a dagger in your pants, or are you just happy to see me."

The bhaalspawn rolled his eyes, grinning at how Baeloth batted his eyes before heading into the main hall.

* * *

Edwin offered the scroll out to the guard at the door, before fishing his amulet out of his vibrantly Thavian red robes so that the guard could clearly see the markings it possessed, as well as the large ruby in the center of it.

"S-Sir? This seal isn't-"

"You would deny a Son of Thay entry to the Ducal Palace? What occurs here today involves Thay as much as any nation." The conjurer sneered, lifting his chin even as he smoothly twisted his words to artfully intimidate his way in. "I am Edwin Odesseiron, son of Tharchion Homen Odesseiron of Surthay who was appointed to his station by Nevron, the Zulkir of Conjuration himself. (I shall make certain to speak with whoever is in charge for this indignity...!)"

"N-no! It's- Ah- Go on in, Sir!"

Edwin snatched his scroll back, sniffing as he swept in, privately glad that the guard hadn't actually opened it and realized it was simply a blank piece of parchment sealed with the Thavians own signet. He proceeded into the main hall, snagging a glass of champagne and moving to stand next to one of the walls, boredly watching the rest of the people. He kept his thoughts focused on critiquing what people were wearing.

* * *

Xzar offered his invitation to the guard at the door with a flourish. The Zhenarim hadn't been happy to see him back, but with a payment and report of how close they were to completing their job had been able to procure one on short notice. The guard checked it over and then eyed him up and down, taking in the black pantaloons and soft green doublet with its scarf tied in a poof under his chin and held in place by the pin he usually wore on his scarf. Soft, knee-high black leather boots and a belt that cinched his doublet in at the waist completed the outfit, and he had teased the markings he usually wore across his face into a subtler wave pattern, pencil thin. His hair was brushed and smooth, bangs partially curling across his face to hide one of his eyes and a large part of his forehead.

"Welcome to the Ducal Palace, Ser."

He accepted the invitation back, inclined his head politely and strutted into the palace. Once there, he let out a sigh and found a patch of wall in the main hall to lean against a patch of wall. The necromancer... Did not miss being crazy. He also most certainly remembered what it was like, and was fully aware of how the restoration hadn't completely fixed him. No, it had patched the cracks, but they were still visible. There were hours when they traveled that he tested his mind and memory to determine the extent of the remaining damage.

He engaged in such exercises as he waited, keeping his mind occupied.

* * *

Viconia had thought it would have been harder to sneak in through the servants quarters, even with the maid outfit and makeup she was wearing. As it were, they were understaffed and she quickly found both herself and the doppelganger escorting her out onto the floor with trays of drinks in their hands. She used no mental routines to keep her thoughts safe, only a small spell that protected her thoughts from being detected.

She settled near the buffet table and marked where each of her companions were, content to wait.

* * *

"Slythie-baby?"

"Yesmmm-!?"

Damion stiffened, fighting the urge to recoil as Baeloth pulled his head down for a kiss, partially turning them so that the bhaalspawn had his back to the crowd. As it were, he settled for putting his hands on the sorcerer's hips and closing his eyes, trying to pretend it was Viconia.

"... Don't look now, but your half-brother just made an appearance and was looking around." Baeloth grimaced, murmuring quietly against his lips and smoothing his gloved hands along Damion's slicked back hair. "You are a -terrible- kisser. Think he might have recognized you?"

"Did you -have- to-?"

"It's an act, and we -are- being watched. Best make it realistic, hmm? Try not to turn -too- red. It also was to prevent you from charging across the room." The sorcerer winked, before glancing past him. "Besides, I can watch for people in the room like this without looking -too- terribly suspicious."

"... I suppose I should thank you then." The Bhaalspawn grimaced, stifling a shudder. "I probably would have gone across the room. If we wait for the attack, not only will it look less like people trying to attack him out of turn, but it will also gain us allies against him. We -should- move closer to the Dukes, however."

"Yes, yes, and it's -our- main goal to protect -them-, after all, while -you- chase your half-brother. I would like to just point out that you don't likely stand a chance against him. He has a good foot of height on you, and looks to be wearing plate armor."

"Aww, Bae, honey~..." Damion looked hurt for a moment. "Just like I keep telling Xzar, have some -faith-."


	54. Best served in anger

_Content warning: As usual, monologue dialogue is right from the game. It's not mine at all. Sure, there's bits that I did that aren't in the game, but largely? No. Straight from the game._

* * *

"Now that all of our guests have arrived, we can begin with the ceremony that you have all been awaiting." The armored human tapped a glass hidden behind the medium shield he carried, the chiming tone it produced hushing the murmur of conversation and drawing attention while a woman in a robe stepped forward.

"As all of you know, this is a special occasion for the city of Baldur's Gate. It is time for a new person to join the ranks of the Grand Dukes. I do not wish to downplay the tragedy that we suffered with the loss of Entar Silvershield, but this is not the time for us to show grief. The votes have been tallied from those submitted by the landowners. The result was nearly unanimous."

"What of Duke Eltan? Has his condition improved at all? If he dies, who will replace him?" A nobleman in red boots frowned, lifting his chin as he called out to the two Grand Dukes addressing the room.

"What about the rumors of Amn mobilizing for war? Why aren't we preparing for war?"Another nobleman wearing red boots called out, this one wearing dark browns to contrast with the greys of the first one. Edwin glanced at him from where he was standing closer to the wall before glancing down, eyes narrowing in thought.

"With our iron shortage, how are we to defend ourselves, and who will give us the iron we need?" A third nobleman cried out, this one dressed head to toe in red.

"Don't panic. We believe that any wearing red boots may be doppelgangers." Xzar murmured to Viconia as he drew up beside her. She glanced at him as he took one of the drinks from her tray, using the motion to cover the slight curl of his fingers while he subtly cast a spell. She could feel the air thicken about her ever so slightly. "... I have done what I can to armor you. The armored gentleman looks to need a refill, and it would put you in the perfect position."

"What of the Zhentarim? I've heard that they may be somehow involved." The fourth nobleman to speak up was also curiously wearing red boots, though they clashed somewhat with his green doublet.

"I believe that Eltan was poisoned by members of the Shadow Thieves. They're obviously trying to kill our leaders." The first nobleman nodded as he spoke, folding his arms

"All of your questions will be answered in due time, you need not worry." The armored human raised his hand to call for silence from the crowd.

_Belt. His name is Belt. Why is his name Belt._ Damion blinked as he caught sight of the visualization of his Bhaalspawn taint circling the armored man. It caught his eye and glanced at the woman. _Her name is far more interesting. Liia Jannath. She's a mage, and he's... Some sort of a holy fighter. Both fated to die at this very gathering, without intervention. Will you manage to save them, I wonder?_

"Entar was killed by Shadow Thieves , agents of Amn. If it isn't obvious to the rest of you, it's obvious to me. Amn wants a war." The first nobleman scowled, looking to the others in the crowd.

Liia stepped forward, narrowing her eyes as she spoke. "The evidence we have about Entar's murder does resemble the work of the Shadow Thieves but-"

Baeloth made his way a foot or so behind the line of red boot wearing noblemen, delicately sipping his drink as he curiously watched the debate and utterly ignoring how Damion was slowly and deftly making his way along the edge of the crowd.

"Resembles?! That's ridiculous! The signature left behind on the body WAS the mark of the Shadow Thieves. Are you blind _and_ stupid, woman?!" The dark brown-clad nobleman raised his hand, shaking his fist at the mage as she snapped her gaze to him.

"If I MAY continue... The signature left behind was very blatant and could have been put there to mislead all of us." She waspishly snapped back at the nobleman while Belt took a sip of his drink.

"Who would want to mislead us?"

"Perhaps I could interject something before this meeting degenerates into meaningless bickering." Belt set his empty drink onto Viconia's tray and snagged another. "We are here to welcome our new Grand Duke, so perhaps we should get on with it. Introducing the new Grand Duke, Sarevok Anchev."

Sarevok stepped forward with a slight bow as Duke Belt gestured to him. "I am honoured to be here before such a respected assemblage of noblemen. I accept my new position with full awareness of my new responsibilities, and I will have many of them."

"I would first like to address many of the questions that had been asked earlier. The rumors about Amn's mobilization for war are entirely true, as is the involvement of their Zhentarim cohorts. But do not worry, we are not bereft of a defense. Although the recent Zhentish attempt at depriving us of the most valuable war resource, iron, has weakened us, it has not crippled us. When my father was most recently murdered, I inherited his control over the western branch of the Iron Throne. They have a great deal of stockpiled iron, enough for all of our needs. I will give this to the city to do with as you will. Unfortunately, our greatest military commander lies on his deathbed, a grievous blow to this city. To ensure taht the Flaming Fist is well led, I will be assuming control of the mercenary regent, with permission of its current steward, Angelo."

"Wait one moment. That is not in your power to decide!" Belt set his drink down on Viconia's tray, turning to fully face Sarevok as the plate-armored man turned back to him with a grin.

"Shut up! Let Sarevok speak!" The red-clad nobleman cupped his hands around his mouth to try and get his shout to carry further, and Xzar's eyes flit to him from where he was across the room and then to the buffet as if trying to determine what there might cross the distance the easiest.

"Instead of waiting for the war to come to us, we will take it to them. With the Flaming Fist, we should easily be able to take down the town of Nashkel and then quickly fortify the mountain pass through the Cloud Peaks. What?! Who dares interupt?!" Sarevok lifted a hand, and the room descended into chaos. All six of the noblemen wearing red boots rushed forward, forms shifting as they shed their disguises and rushed both of the dukes.

Oh, but how Damion longed to do the same, though with Sarevok as his target. The smug bastard simply hung back, watching idly as Belt stepped in front of Liia and drew a hammer. He very likely had not expected Viconia to draw a mace from under her skirt and step up next to him, calling on Shar and ripping the sleeves of her blouse as her arms thickened with extra muscle. Xzar cast as he crossed the room, dodging two guards who were bewildered and hard pressed by a doppelganger, tagging the monstrosity on the way by and causing it to recoil from the black-purple flames with a howl.

Liia wove her hands through the air, sending a missile made of acid into the face of one of her attackers as it clawed at her, before shaking her head as Baeloth touched his thumbs together and sent a wash of flame out across the doppelgangers back. He tucked his hand on his hip as it spun around, orienting on him.

"_You_ need a new tailor, your clothes are _absolutely_ dreadful."

Edwin stood his ground, keeping well back from the fray and guiding his barrage of magic missiles to the already wounded doppelganger that was now trying to lash out and claw Baeloth, frowning as it was still up after the fact and drawing one of the wands he had tied to his forearms out, twirling it. Pointing the orange and green wooden implement towards the open space behind the doppelganger harrying Liia that Baeloth had not yet engaged, he murmured and focused, eyes narrowed.

Whatever standoffs the fighting in the room had settled into was disrupted with the arrival of no fewer than five large, spike-studded wolves. They wheeled as one, harrying one of the doppelgangers and dragging its feet out from under it. Baeloth hissed as the doppelganger knocked him over, one hand up trying to protect his face while the other fished down his bodice and came up with a blue rod. He aimed it upwards, spat out a word and squinted against the bright glare of the lightning bolt as it burst upwards. The doppelganger glanced at the wand, and then at the sorcerer before cackling.

"Youuu misssssed, AHAHAHA-"

The line of lightning hit the ceiling, before bounding back and slamming through both Baeloth and the doppelganger on top of him, only to rebound off the floor and firing back up at the ceiling, passing through both of them once more and then a third and final time as it came back down. The sorcerer pushed the smoking corpse off of him, disgusted and unharmed by the magic as he stood up and adjusted the wineskins in his top. He glanced at Liia, and dipped into a smooth bow, smirking.

"Hiii~, Grand Duke, right? We're here to rescue you."

Damion settled a few feet away from Sarevok, drawing the shortsword from where it had been sheathed under the back of his shirt. He met the glowing yellow gaze easily, and rested the flat of the blade against his free hand.

"You should have known I'd turn up eventually."

"There's a strict kill on sight order with your name on it, if I recall right Dear Brother. I'm surprised news of your arrival didn't spread."

"Surrender, Sarevok."

"Oh please, I worked hard for this position. Besides, what will the other Grand Dukes think when they see you attacking me? Come to finish what you started with my father?"

"I didn't think you would, but Father would have wanted me to try. I'm not going to attack you, Sarevok."

"Oh? Then what are you going to do?" Glowing yellow eyes narrowed, and he glanced at the quieting commotion to see that the last of the doppelgangers was being torn apart by wolves.

"It was lucky that such brave people as yourselves intervened on our behalf. Is there anything that I can do for you in return?" Belt smiled at Viconia as she murmured and prayed, healing the claw marks across Liia's stomach.

"Take a look at these documents we have. Sarevok is the one who tried to kill you, had Entar killed, and nearly killed Eltan." Baeloth ticked off all four Grand Dukes, barring Sarevok, on his fingers with the want tucked under his arm, before delving into his bodice again to recover the letters to Slythe and Krystin and offering them out. "We also have Sarevok's own personal diary, and a plethora of other tidbits of proof if you need. _Quite_ the enlightening read."

"I'll take a look, but if you're wrong, the punishment for such false accusations is severe." Belt accepted the letters, frowning as he scanned each parchment.

"Angelo!" Sarevok barked at a Flaming Fist mercenary armed with a bow. "Those people are the ones wanted on multiple counts of murder: KILL them!"

"These men are not to be touched until I have finished reading these documents." Belt didn't even bother to look up, eyes narrowing as he passed the first to Liia.

"You don't need to read that document, but since I know you're too stupid to take my advice, I'll just take your head." Sarevok turned, and Duke Belt looked up just in time to see him draw a two handed sword from his back, aiming to cleave downwards as he strode forward. He grunted, jerking and staggering an extra step forward with his aim thrown off as he twisted, turning the downwards cleave into a swipe behind him, clipping the defensively braced shortsword and sending Damion skittering out from behind him.

"Oh, Brother Dear, you really shouldn't let your temper get the better of you. You were so close, too...!" Damion taunted and quick-stepped back around Sarevok as some of the guards rallied to defend both Grand Dukes, leaving the yellow-eyed bhaalspawn flanked until he simply turned to Damion and rushed him, trying to shoulder him into the wall. Damion was able to slip back out of the way, however, though this cost him the ability to flank him in the future. With his back to the wall, the older Bhaalspawn set about taking care of the guards. One of them staggered back, the sword having cleaved through his chest plate and digging deep while another was snagged by the throat and bodily tossed across the room as if he was weightless.

Duke Belt stepped up to fill the hole, shield raised and braced to catch the second sword strike and protect the unfortunate guard that would have crumpled under it. The shield creaked in protest, dented horribly, but he kept it in place and shifted around, trying to distract the yellow-eyed bhaalspawn. Liia raised her hands, sending a barrage of missiles into the fray and frowning as Sarevok seemed unphased.

"Magic has no effect!"

"Bah! You and I aren't finished yet, Damiondred. I'll kill you, just as I killed Gorion. The only way you'll ever live in peace is if you kill me first." Sarevok cleaved horizontally with the two handed sword, buying space as everyone shifted back to avoid getting hit before arcs of light streamed around him, curling into a circle and pulling him through the resulting portal that snapped shut as he passed through. The room remained quiet as each individual looked around, expecting him to pop back out, and Belt looked towards Damion.

"I think it is in your best interest to hunt Sarevok and kill him before he does the same to you."

"I think you're right." Damion tugged the sheath free from where it was strapped under his shirt, sliding the shortsword into it. "The only problem is finding the Bastard."

"Through the power of my god, I should be able to divine his location. Just wait a moment, and I'll tell you where he has gone." Belt frowned, eyes closing as he prayed before shaking his head. "He has teleported to the Thieves Guild. I will dimension fold you to where he has gone. From there, you can follow him, and kill him. Good luck."

"Thank you."


	55. Best served well prepared

_Content warning: As usual, some monologue dialogue is right from the game. It's not mine._

* * *

"What is this! it seems like everyone's crashing in on the Thieves' Guild these days. First that huge armored guy, and now you! You better tell me what you're here about, and right quick, or you're in a lot of trouble!"

"We're tracking down Sarevok... The huge armored guy. Where did he go?"

Fingers pointed, and Damion turned to start heading in that direction before a hand on his arm stopped him.

"Abbil, we have used a great number of spells today already-"

"He's getting away, Viconia." Damion kept his eyes on the door, patient and on edge all at once. The cleric stepped in, lowering her voice.

"Abbil-"

"If you would like to stay behind and rest, by all means do so." The rogue reached to gently pull her hand off of his arm, still staring at the doorway. "But I will end this today, one way or another."

"At -least- let me go and get the rest of our gear, hmm? Before we get bounced by your Big Brother?"

The archer paused, looking down at himself ant taking stock of his effects. One winged serpent hidden in his shirt, a short sword and a dagger. Hesitating, he looked over to Baeloth and smiled slightly as the sorcerer adjusted his wineskins and waggled his eyebrows.

"... I'll scout ahead, then, but I won't go too far. Move quickly?"

"Not in these heels, are you _trying_ to kill me!?"

* * *

He cheated when he got to the maze. Forewarned of the complexity, traps and monsters, he subtly inquired as to what side would lead down and out to wherever Sarevok would likely have gone, and was informed it would be an exit to the north west. That in mind, he stepped to the wall, carefully pried up the boards that made up the wall in the northern corner of the room and followed the stone wall until he came to an exit. There was a man who had taught Sarevok along the way, and he received a quick, merciful death.

The rest of the group had caught up to him by then, and they traveled down the winding stone path once he had donned his gear until it opened into a large cavern lit only sparsely with a cluster of torches near what looked to be a large building and some sort of arch closer towards them.

"Baeloth."

"Mmmyes?"

"Make us invisible, please."

The drow nodded quietly, weaving his hands and watching as Xzar snagged Edwin by the arm and then vanished. Glancing down, he kept track of the footprints as they started off.

"This cave... The torches are a good six hundred feet out. It's almost as if he's waiting for us."

"He probably is." Two sets of footprints - the necromancer and conjurer's, respectively - padded forward as Xzar hummed thoughtfully. "That... Is a temple to Bhaal. Look at the hooded figures. We'd heard there was a temple, but thought it was destroyed..."

"So there's a very good chance that he's going to hole up in there and wait for me?"

"Yes."

Damiondred shifted forward, before sighing. "Edwin, how are you for spells?"

"(As if we did not notice his counting.) I have enough for two or three minor skirmishes."

"The battle at the brothel took more than I would have liked out of all of us. I hate to admit it, but we might have to rest. I just don't want to lose him."

"Abbil, the broken city ahead is crawling with undead."

"Interesting, and useful with your skills. Xzar, do temples of Bhaal tend to have secret exits?"

Dirt scuffed slightly around where infravision could pick up the heat of footprints as the necromancer hummed thoughtfully once more. "Ye-ess...? Murder is frowned upon. Legally, anyways."

"Could you show me where they are?"

"Nnnooo..."

"Because _you_ can't show _me_, or because you can't _show_ me?"

"Ohh, _emphasis_... More the latter than the former, admittedly. It's very likely an underground tunnel, or series of them that - Probably? - lead to the harbor."

"Great. Baeloth, do you have anything for finding tunnels through the rock?"

"This is because I'm _black_, isn't it-"

"As one of the smartest people in the group, I think you're really the only one qualified and familiar with finding these sorts of things, considering you were probably smart enough to use them yourself. Viconia, Xzar and Edwin are going to be otherwise busy, too."

A moment of silence hung in the air before the male drow finally heaved a great sigh. "Alright. But _not_ because you told me to."

"And what do you have in mind for the rest of us, O Great Leader? (Am I to be led around through the dark by the hand like a child? This is-)"

"Edwin, you're going to help me scout their defenses because out of everyone, you're the one person I trust to follow orders for a strategic retreat when I give them so long as you can see a good reason for it. Xzar and Viconia are going to round up as many undead as they can while we crack the door to see what they've got waiting for us. This also lets you work with the light they've already got down there. Once we've got an idea of what they're capable of and how many undead there are down here, Xzar and Viconia can trade off on undead herding duty and get some rest with the rest of us. Besides, I wanted to talk to you about an idea I had."

"... Feh. (-Fine- then.)"

* * *

The party waiting for them put a -slight- hitch in their plan, but only insofar as the allocation of the undead forces they were rapidly gaining. Viconia mobbed them with the undead while Xzar tucked into one of the ruined buildings on the outskirts to meditate and rest. Edwin and Damion watched from a short distance away, taking advantage of the distraction to slip past and approach the torch-lined building.

"Do you have a familiar?"

"A familiar is a point of weakness for a wizard, and any truly intelligent one would -not- have one. (As if I would be so sloppy as to give my enemies the opportunity to weaken me!)

"What happens when one dies?"

"The recoil through the bond causes debilitating pain, incapacitating the wizard at worst, sapping their health at best. The stronger the familiar, the worse your recoil will be. You, foolish simian, invite disaster mid-combat by keeping your familiar on your person. (Unless he secretly has a death wish, of course...)

"Thank you. Xzar helped me with the summoning, but you're a Conjurer. You're an expert at this, and I wanted to know what I wasn't being told."

"To be expected, from someone who reputedly intends to kill you."

"I don't know if he does for sure. I know he's thinking about it. I'm sure all of you have, except maybe Viconia and only because I'm useful to her as a way to get around."

"And you -still- give us your back? (Maybe he -does- have a death wish.)"

"It's stupid of me, yeah. It's also why I have a job I'd like you to do for me. Trust me, I'll pay well and half in advance."

"... I am listening."

* * *

It turned out that Sarevok was, in fact, waiting for them in the temple. Not alone either, they realized, as an arrow ploughed into one of the zombies and then exploded with the same force as once of the fireballs from Xzar's wand. Some careful peeking into the doorway of the temple revealed a bored looking man in robes, Angelo (wielding a bow), a half ogre and Sarevok himself. The latter two waded into the waves of undead and dispatched them without a problem, joking back and forth. Eventually, after the third wave, the Bhaalspawn slammed his sword down into the ground point-first and started pummeling the undead with his fists.

"Come my cowardly brother! I can wait all night!"

They let the attacks of the undead come less frequently, after that. It wasn't something that was going to actually _do_ anything worthwhile, after all, and they largely made sure to keep them up periodically to make sure he was still in the temple. His periodic cackles proved as much as the hours passed, and eventually the archer bit Viconia to sleep while he kept watch. She agreed, but only reluctantly, and he was left alone with his thoughts while the party slumbered on. Periodically, he looked to each of them and, eventually, shook his head.

It was a long six hours.

* * *

"I'm honestly surprised he's still in there."

"Doubtless the temple empowers him. And he knows you won't stop coming for him, now." Xzar yawned and stretched, blinking blearily as he sat up from his bedroll. Raking a hand back through his hair, he glanced around and then tilted his head at the visibility of the party before looking to the archer with an unspoken question.

"They have a wizard. I'm not going to ask Baeloth to blow a third tier spell when any wizard worth their spellbook probably has defenses against it. Breakfast?" Damion offered out a handful of jerky, which the necromancer ooh'd quietly and accepted to munch on contently while he fished out his spellbook to start to prepare for the day. "Plan's the one I mentioned before. The four of you take down the three with him, while I deal with Sarevok."

"And you truly think you can take him?" Xzar studied the archer for a long moment, quirking a brow. "You really do, don't you. He can rip you in half, but you think you can take him one on one. He's going to kill you."

"No Xzar. In fact, I'll make you a wager. Within twenty minutes of going into that building, he's going to be on the ground, and you're going to cut his throat." Damion smiled slightly at how the Zhent's eyes narrowed and he leaned back. The Bhaalspawn held out his familiar, the winged snake hissing quietly and flicking its tongue out curiously. "I'm serious. Here. If I don't, kill it. If the fight goes on any longer then that, I'm never going to be able to kill him anyway. At least in killing it, you'll have completed your job, and he'll let you go."

The necromancer blinked, looking from the snake to the archer, before reaching out to accept the snake and eased it into a sack, before tying it shut. "... You... Believe so firmly in this thing, that you trust I won't just kill it the moment we get in there and offer you up?"

"Where's the fun in that? Besides, you want to see how I'm going to do it, don't you?"

Xzar hummed, looking down at the sack in his hands before a wide grin spread across his face as he as good as admitted he did with a nod.

"Good then, that's settled. When you and Edwin are ready, let's go murder some people."


	56. Best served by the faithful

Damiondred could feel the power that laced the temple in the very marrow of his bones as he set foot within it. It thrummed quietly, tingling through him the same way the sound of nails across a chalkboard would and raised the hair on the back of his neck all the same and made him clench his jaw. If he focused, he could sense the power that had gathered in each of the sarcophagi that lined the walls of the temple. Centered in the floor was a massive symbol of Bhaal, a skull surrounded by twelve drops of blood _(Be careful, Bhaa's blood within him whispered, reminding him, for the droplets are trapped.) _that curled counter clockwise along the floor. At the back stood a raised dais, with the half-ogre (_Tazok. The one who had been sent to manage the camp in the wood of sharp teeth._) lounging along it. Angelo was in the process of standing up from where he had sat with his legs dangled over the ledge, and the wizard (_Semaj, one of Sarevok's closest allies. A conjurer that worked behind the scenes._) twisted something on one of his hands and vanished abruptly.

It didn't matter what they did. Sarevok's bhaalspawn blood had given him strength and glowing eyes. Damiondred's had given him something far more valuable, and practice had let him learn the limits of how long he could manage using it. His party burst into casting around him and he mentally started to count, one to six repeatedly while he strode in and leveled the bow at Sarevok even as his brother started to talk. The first arrow cut him off, puncturing through the armor and drawing an enraged shout as he charged across the room after Damiondred.

_One_.

Xzar lingered near the entrance, weighing the bag in his hand.

_Two._

It was Angelo and Semaj who took damage first, with Edwin and Baeloth launching fireballs across the room as they each spread out to take a side of the room, avoiding getting too close to the sarcophagi that lined the walls after the necromancer's reluctant admittance that they housed guardians of the temple to dissuade looters. Viconia had made it half-way across the room, charging at Tazok before Sarevok finished closing the distance to Damiondred. The sword swept up, and came down.

_Three._ The world went grey and still, and the archer studied Sarevok, learning his armor. He noted the eyes were still golden, and a thought struck him as he started to throw himself to the side while the world regained colour and movement, sword slamming down onto the floor where he had been only a moment ago.

_Four._ "I see-" Sarevok's voice cut through the din in a low, ugly bellow while an arrow streaked over his shoulder and hit part of the wall behind Damiondred, exploding and sending the sorcerer cursing as he stumbled forward and dove into a roll to put out the flames.

_Five._ "-what you are-" Edwin snapped one of his hands out, a shield manifesting in front of him and absorbing the return barrage of magic missiles even as the other dove to his belt to produce a wand.

_Six._ "-doing, Little Brother, do-" The world went grey again as Sarevok's greatsword came across in a great horizontal cleave, and the archer admired for a moment how the cleric of Shar had reached the half-ogre, mace raised and seemingly aiming for his kneecap. She always had been particularly wise, and dropping such a big foe down to where she could reach his head certainly seemed like a good idea. He prepared to throw himself into a dive under the swing and to the side, over one of the trapped teardrops as the world regained colour and momentum.

_That's two. Every three seconds or every time he tries to strike, as we agreed. Every six would let you last longer._

_(I know, other me, but I might not live that long anyways. One.)  
_

"-you truly think that even with such trickery, you will live?" Sarevok advanced after him, stepping over the teardrop almost casually and charging after the archer. Even with his boots of speed his brother was keeping pace with him, and he dropped both bow and the arrow he was holding in favour of drawing his short sword. Four spike-studded wolves bound across the room to snap and snarl at the half-ogre while Baeloth flicked his fingers through a quick series of gestures to send a barrage of missiles out at their same target. Viconia weathered a heavy strike against her shield, snarling and sliding it aside as she called out to Shar and slammed the mace against Tazok's knee once more. It buckled, and he went down with a roar before punching out and sending her staggering back with the force of the blow, spitting blood.

The armored Bhaalspawn quick-stepped closer in a lunge faster than Damiondred expected, barely throwing himself to the side in time as it scraped across his studded leather and drew blood, the larger of the two of them simply shrugging off the answering scrape of the shortsword off of plate armor.

"Murder doesn't always mean having the biggest sword, Dearest Brother. But you know that, don't you." He turned and bolted, vaulting over the inset droplets of blood before coming to rest on the center of the skull, sliding to the side as Sarevok swept the greatsword down to clank it against the floor once more, and he would have thought that the force of the blow was what shook the building if he had missed the wash of fire behind him, where Edwin had launched another fireball. The dire wolves swept in as the heat dispersed, jaws snapping for Angelo as he backpedaled and fired another pair of rounds into them. He was sent staggering as they exploded, but the gamble had paid off until he saw Viconia come barreling towards him from between the corpses. A line of lightning passed through her and ricochet off the wall behind her, Semaj cursing as the spell simply didn't effect her.

"I know I will enjoy gutting you, just as I did the old man!" Sarevok stepped forward, trying to crowd the archer and get him to back over one of the traps, expecting his proximity to be enough to send his smaller foe fleeing before him as they always did. He even was mid-way through bringing the sword around as his smaller brother shifted as if to step back, heel up, foot shifting ever to slightly as the world flickered a familiar grey and then regained colour.

He wasn't ready for the way the shortsword was forced between where two plates of his armor overlapped and then jammed abruptly along his side, caught in his armor at an angle, Damiondred using his back foot to help brace as he lunged forward and struck to put his weight behind the blow. He left it there as he spun around and applied his boot to a plated rump, shoving him forward and onto one of the inset droplets of blood.

Magic flared, and the droplet liquidated and surged upwards in a series of spears. A number of them glanced off of the thick armor, while a few punctured through and sent the larger Bhaalspawn staggering and howling as he twisted and slashed, cleaving through the rest of them as Damiondred almost casually picked at his nails while he watched, smiling.

"Surrender, Sarevok. It's over."

"You think _this_ is enough to end me? You fool! Now you die!" Charging forward, he cleaved across with the greatsword, waiting for the world to flicker grey before letting go with the trailing hand to land a heavy blow across the smaller Bhaalspawn's jaw, sending Damiondred reeling and narrowly avoiding another trap. The world flickered grey again, before he straightened and started to laugh, gesturing with the dagger even as he backpedaled out of the way of another downwards strike.

"You thought sending a fanatic of Bhaal to kill me would actually work, and you call _me_ a fool? Look around you, Brother Dearest! All that's left of your forces is a mage that turned invisible in a desperate bid to save his own life!"

"And all that you have, is a dagger more fit for picking my teeth with. Magics will not work on me, and if your precious little Sharran steps up, do you truly think she will last? Maybe I should return the favour, and start with _HER!_" Sarevok turned, starting across the room before a searing pain burned through his back, causing him to spin around and cleave at his grinning little brother as Damiondred danced out of the way.

"Oh, _by all means_, show me your back!"

The larger Bhaalspawn set his feet, glowing eyes narrowing before he looked around to finally note the positions of the rest of the archers party. Viconia, Baeloth and Edwin were close to the dais, the former healing the latter while Xzar... Xzar remained by the door, chewing his lower lip and holding an open sack from which a colourful winged serpent had partially emerged. He paled and lowered his gaze as Sarevok caught his eye and started to laugh.

"You... You fool! You utter fool! Your downfall will be your faith in your friends! Xzar!" The necromancer jerked at the commanding tone, pale green eyes rising to meet glowing golden ones.

"Kill the Fool's creature!"

The world flickered grey, a heartbeat passed, and Xzar's eyes glazed over. His hand closed around its throat, fingers of frost spreading along its length and across its wings. While it writhed, Sarevok turned to gloat over his brother, who surely must have been debilitated by the pain...

An arrow passed through one of the holes left by the trap he had stepped on, lodging into his kidney. He took a step, turning as a second arrow snapped through another one, angled upwards and into a lung as Damiondred fired mid-roll along the ground and passed under him, and back onto the skull inset into the floor behind him. He turned again, getting the sword up enough to glance one of the arrows aside before he felt the shortsword caught in his armor get tugged on. Snapping his eyes down to where Damiondread had a hand on the sword, the world went grey and still and he felt the moment drag on.

Damiondred had the dagger in his off hand, blade extending past his pinky and held in a fashion that suggested a stab to his side and Sarevok understood that he had underestimated his brother. The grip on the shortsword wasn't to tear it free, but to use it as a handhold on the otherwise smooth armor, so that he could haul himself up and bury it into the gap in the platemail under his armpit. The world gained colour and movement, and the dagger struck even as the short sword was wrenched free and the smaller bhaalspawn went tumbling past, regaining his feet.

Sarevok staggered before using the momentum of the movement to lunge and stab towards the archer, scraping the blade across both weapons brought defensively to bear. The sheer weight of the blow pushed it through the defenses and along Damiondred's side before he disengaged to get some room, and the armored Bhaalspawn took a step before a wave of pain radiated through him and he buckled, dropping to a knee.

"You know, those arrows weren't easy to get. Useful, though. The sirines at the temple by Beregost use them, and they pack a potent poison. The problem was, I didn't know how to get them through your armor. I've hit you with three of them, though I guess your constitution won out against the first." The archer paced to the side, watching as his brother spat blood and reached to tear one of the arrows out. "Bad choice, that. The poison thins your blood, and keeps you bleeding."

"You think this... is enough to defeat me!?"

"No. Not by half. But you've played every card in your hand, and I've had an awfully long time to plan. Xzar was the last trump card you had, and I've stolen every potion you had in your belt."

Sarevok's hand drifted down to verify the truth, before his face twisted into a snarl.

"Oh don't be like that. I cased out where you kept them during the fight with the doppelgangers. Why do you think I didn't draw a second weapon?" Damiondred flourished the dagger, before tossing it aside so that it bounced and skid over towards the necromancer before he started to pace and continued to talk. "I'm not like you, Sarevok. I have _faith_ in the people around me. These are _my_ people, that you had falsely imprisoned. These are _my_ traveling companions that you threatened, and that is _my priest_ that you tried to have kill _my_ familiar, all so that you could exploit a weakness and kill me."

"You thought sending assassins after me would make me turn back? You killed _my_ Father! The man who raised me, who taught me wrong from right! You killed the acolytes in Candlekeep that I grew up with, and threatened the life of my sister! You _killed your own father_ and pinned the blame on me and my friends!" The archer scowled as he finally stopped pacing, back to the alter. "And all for what? To become a _GOD_? To try to start a war and let the Sword coast run red with blood? You didn't even take the time to get to know the people you worked with! Their quirks, their flaws, nothing! What was your big plan for finding followers, people to supplement your divinity with their prayers?"

"You are stalling." Sarevok realized, having noted the way both drow had shared a look after the sorcerer had blinked and then grinned. He started to try to push himself to his feet, growling through the pain. "What are you-"

A dagger came across his throat, dipped, curved, and came out the other side. Xzar giggled as he stepped back, grinning madly even as the armored Bhaalspawn started to lift the greatsword and found he couldn't. It was trapped against the ground by the archer's boot, and as he choked and spat Damiondred leaned in and shook his head.

"He's a fanatic of the God of Murder, dearest brother, and you practically gave him to me. All I had to do was give him the tool and the opportunity. What did you think was going to happen?"

* * *

Damiondred stared down at Sarevok as the larger Bhaalspawn wheezed and gurgled, motes of golden light drifting off of the body as it started to break down and fall apart. Tracking their path, they seemed to almost seep into the ground around the edges of the symbol before all that was left was a bloodstain on the ground. He sheathed the shortsword, moved to scoop his bow back up, and slung it across his back as the rest silently gathered.

"Edwin?"

The Thavian obligingly held out his arm, a colourful winged serpent nosing out of his sleeve and fliting over to settle atop the archers shoulder.

"Thank you. Let's go, everyone. There's the matter of payment, and if I remember right I promised Baeloth he could drag me to a brothel."

The sorcerer snorted, laughed, and raised his arms to stretch and grin while Viconia scoffed and rolled her eyes, falling into step while they moved towards the door.

"You're going to -love- it, trust me!"

"Xzar?"

The necromancer jerked slightly, humming inquisitively as he tore his gaze from the bloodstain on the floor. He blinked at the tired smile the archer gave him.

"Aren't you coming?"

"Hmm? Oh... Yes, we suppose we are..."


	57. Epilogue

Edwin was the first to split from the group. He received his payment and then mentioned that, with the regional troubles no longer proving of interest to Thay (and with the wychlaran dead), that he had other more important projects to work on. Damiondred thanked him for his time and waved as the conjurer turned and headed down the street, away from the Thieve's Guild they were emerging from.

Viconia was the next to go, and though he was tempted to ask her not to he knew his growing crush on her was one sided, and that she wouldn't take kindly to anyone trying to force her to stay when she really wanted to forge her own path, the writ in her hand as good as a license to freedom and life. He also felt somewhat bad considering the glare she shot both Baeloth and himself, while the former pulled up a sewer grate and grinned wickedly.

The sorcerer was the third to leave. By the time Damiondred had woken up, groggy from too much wine with an entirely new skill set under his belt, he was gone and the necromancer was leaning against the doorway, mentioning that the drow had left early, and also left the archer to foot the bill. He did, and only after they were above ground and blinking in the sunlight did he think to ask why Xzar had been in the brothel when he had woken up.

"Baeloth wanted to make sure that they didn't mug you in your sleep."

He nodded, accepting that as the answer even as they made their way to the Sorcerous Sundries. They finished their report and came out with the lock of hair that he had given them as collateral, Xzar counting the strands just to be sure.

"Hmm... All present and accounted for. Shall we burn it?"

"Please, Xzar. Leaving that lying around is dangerous."

The necromancer nodded, before the hair caught fire and was dropped to the ground. They watched it burn away to ash before Damiondred looked back up to Xzar.

"What will you do now?"

"Me? Well, I can't very well work for the Zhentarim again, now can I." Green eyes narrowed as they contemplated the ash on the ground, lips pursing. "I could always go into freelancing, but the roads are just _terrible_ for a lone wizard to travel. You?"

"I'm going to report to Duke Eltan, and then go and find my sister. You're welcome to come along. You'd have to pretend not to eat people, though." The Bhaalspawn grinned slightly at the sour face his companion made, nose wrinkled and upper lip curled in disgust.

"Ew. goody two-shoes is going to make me sick. You plan to hide your nature?"

"As best I can. Sarevok's dead now and I don't... Know what to do. So I'll play it by ear, maybe take up mercenary work myself until I learn more about Bhaal. I could use a teacher, you know."

"Feh. Fine." Xzar straightened his robes, drew himself up and then paused, looking thoughtfully at the archer.

"How would you feel about a cult?"

Damiondread laughed, turning and beckoning Xzar to fall into step beside him. "There'd have to be rules about such a thing, you know. Like 'no killing people in the same cult unless they've already tried to break this rule'. No sense in having followers if they keep thinning their own numbers out..."

* * *

"Well then, lookit that! He did it! Your pact with the half-elf is complete, Ira. One dead Bhaalspawn."

"Shut up, Ten. Is it ready?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. It _will_ hurt, cleaving off that part of your essence. Are you sure?"

"I don't even care what you do with it, so long as it's not part of the war."

"Spoilsport. Very well. No more easy contracts with mortals for you."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Nimloth and Eyanid and everyone that commented on this story while it was on FF.net  
Because of you all, I kept writing. Even if it wasn't more Baldur's Gate stuff, I still kept writing because all of you kept me going through Revenge is a Dish.  
Onwards and Upwards,  
-Kaisa Del'Armago


End file.
